Coming Home
by PasDuTout
Summary: Ada DuPrae, an unconventional therapist with a shady past, wants to fix Tommy Conlon, an ex-marine with a history of trauma beginning long before wartime. What she's failed to realize is that you can't always fix someone. You can only love them. Sometimes it isn't enough. But sometimes it is.
1. First Session

**Coming Home**

_-Meeting Tommy Conlon-_

"Thomas Conlon?"

Ada didn't bother looking up as she read the name in passing. There were so many of these guys a day that she had the tendency to lose track without much effort. And by 'these guys' she meant those obligated to show up to therapy via a court order or a mental hygiene warrant. Most of them head straight to the nearest psychiatric office, don't bother to learn the doctor's name, try to score some prescription drugs, and then they're out the door without a single check-up after their allotted number of ordered sessions. And she was more than glad to just check them off, too, because more often than not it wasn't worth wasting her energy on anyone who isn't committed to their recovery. There are the stubborn patients, and then there are the uncommitted. It's damn near impossible to get anywhere with someone who isn't committed.

Conlon was a little different, she saw as she skimmed over his file on the way back to her office. A marine, recently arrested and faced AWOL charges in military court. Disappeared after an incident of friendly fire, in which he was the only survivor of his unit. His verdict was a dishonorable discharge, with court-ordered therapy for evident post-traumatic stress disorder. He will be arrested and tried in a civilian court should he not complete his sixteen sessions of therapy over a span of eight weeks.

Her practice didn't get many soldiers. Most of the time, they had their own military doctors specially trained in war-related conditions. Ex-soldiers with cases of PTSD were far and few, but she did have them. She suspected this would be no different. Sit him down twice a week, ask him about his experiences. He won't talk. He might throw a few rages. She'd get him on some sort of SSRI like Zoloft, sign off on his sessions for his eight weeks, and then send him on his merry way.

She could hear him walking behind her, so she said over her shoulder, "How are you today?" in an attempt seem like the kind, easy going therapist. He didn't answer and that didn't bother her. She opened the door to her office, heading inside, and immediately placed herself behind her desk. As she spread her paperwork over the surface of her desk, Ada heard the door close shut with a click, and finally she looked up at her patient.

Thomas Conlon had the potential to be handsome, but his features were understated behind an oversized black sweatshirt and matching stocking cap. As he took a seat in front of her, she could see remarkably full lips set to a natural purse, and though his cap shielded his eyes, she could tell they were gray. Maybe even a little blue. He settled back into his chair and immediately began to fidget, bringing his hand to his mouth to bite at his thumbnail. He stared in her direction, but his eyes were not on her.

"Hat's off," she said simply, and his eyes quickly moved to her face. "I have a rule about hats in my office, and I like them off. I want to see the person I'm talking to."

Silently, he reached up and tugged the cap from his head with a look that said '_happy?'_ Underneath was a head of brown hair that was slowly growing out from a buzz cut. He ran his hand through it to ruffle up any flatness from the hat.

"So, Thomas-," she stopped speaking when he mumbled something inaudible. "Pardon?" she asked, encouraging him to speak up.

"Just Tommy, ma'am," he said quietly.

"All right, Tommy," she agreed with a smile and a nod. "My name is Dr. DuPrae, I will be your therapist for the next eight weeks." When he didn't say anything, she chose another approach. "Would you like something to drink, Tommy? Coffee, water, soda? I think I have some Dr. Pepper in here-," she reached down to the miniature fridge underneath her desk.

"Just water, please," he said, leaning forward slightly. When she retrieved a bottle from her fridge, he took it with a "thank you", immediately opening it for a sip.

"Are you nervous, Tommy?" she asked as she settled back into her own chair, bringing her cup of coffee to her lips. After swallowing a gulp of the warm liquid, she said, "You don't want to be here. And that's okay, most people don't. But the majority of your military career was during wartime. Your file goes into more detail, but you know what happened over there – I don't need to repeat it. But what I am suggesting that you take advantage of these eight weeks. They're only going to help you if you let them. While you're here…why not try to heal a little?"

"What makes you think you can heal me?" his words came out slowly, and his eyes narrowed into a glare.

"I can't," Ada said simply, with a shrug. "That's on you. But I can guide you through it. That much I know how to do."

"You don't know anything about me."

His resistance made her smile. Tommy wouldn't be a talker. And when he did have something to say, it would be to question her motives, her intelligence, and her ability to do her job. She made a mental note to check if SSRIs were covered by his health insurance.

"I'm not supposed to," she said, and his eyebrows furrowed slightly. "I'm the outside opinion that's supposed to interpret your reactions to the information you give me. I ask questions, you answer them. Then based on your answers, I attempt to determine the source of your problems."

"I ain't got any problems." His features coiled as though the very suggestion disgusted him, and he shifted in his chair, looking away impassively.

"The court seems to suggest otherwise," Ada responded coolly, glancing down at the papers in front of her. "Why do you think you're here, Tommy?"

He sniffed, and shifted again. "They're trying to clean up their mess," he said with a shrug, and looked squarely at her. Anger burned in those gray eyes.

"Who are 'they'?"

With another shrug, he averted his gaze once more. "The Corp; the government. Shoot down your own men, you can't lock up the one that got away. People – people know. So they let him go. Order him to therapy, get him on some meds. He'll be too fucked up to talk."

A pang of guilt struck Ada at these words, for her initial desire to get him a prescription and get him out of her office. And the fact that this plan registered with him intrigued her. This, and his theory that the government was attempting to cover up an unpopular incident by setting up the only survivor with the opportunity to become a jaded addict. "You don't think they're just looking out for your well-being?" she asked, out of curiosity.

His unconvinced expression said enough.

"All right," she said, with another smile, and dropped the subject. She picked up her coffee cup, and gestured a small toast in his direction. "Let's actually begin, shall we?" She sifted through the papers until she produced a clipboard, and withdrew a pen from a holder on her desk. "As I said, my name is Dr. DuPrae, Ada if you're more comfortable with that. But I'll just let you know I worked my ass off for the doctor title, so I like to hear it as often as possible."

Ada looked up from checking off the list of general information she was supposed to cover with a new patient on the first day of therapy. Her small joke did not reach through to him, so she returned her attention to the clipboard. "I've been a practicing psychiatrist for three years now, one of those years here. Before that I was I was working at the Harborview Medical Center in Seattle, where I completed my residency."

She glanced up at him, to find that he was actually listening. "I know you're not really interested, but I have to tell you anyway," she said as she continued, "I earned my undergraduate degree in psychology at the University of Washington, and then continued onto medical school at the University of Virginia. I specialize in adult mental health, emotional disturbances, and substance abuse. My therapies consist mainly of verbal communication, but I do tend to take my patients on field trips. Sound good?"

"What do you mean field trips?" he asked, inclining his head ever so slightly.

"Opening up in therapy takes courage, and there's nothing wrong with being rewarded for that valor," she said, picking up a loose sheet of paper to read over. "I like to treat my cooperative patients to something special every once in a while. Maybe out to lunch. Maybe to a football game. They aren't court-ordered sessions, but most don't usually refuse. Now, the government has ceased your health care benefits with your discharge, but it looks like the billing for your appointment fees is being directed to a Brendan Conlon? Is that your father?"

"No," Tommy said, and did not elaborate.

Ada assumed it to be his brother if not his father, and so continued, "Well Mr. Conlon has agreed to pay any and all additional fees regarding your treatment, including medication. Have you considered medication as a viable option toward your recovery?"

"I'm not taking no more meds." His statement was made with an air of finality, and Ada did not try to negotiate. A glance down at his medical records revealed the reason behind his firm stance on the subject. Mr. Conlon was no rookie to the use of psychiatric drugs and prescription painkillers.

"It says here that you were recently treated for a concussion and a dislocated shoulder," she looked up at him with interest. "Can I ask what happened?"

"How much does your little folder say about me?" he asked, gesturing towards her papers as he took another sip of water.

"Not much. I have your military and medical records, insurance information, emergency contacts, and…the documentation that I have to submit to court when we're done," Ada took the tracking of information as an opportunity to organize the papers into a neat pile. "So, are you going to tell me what happened?"

"Fight," he said, which caught her attention.

"What kind of fight?" she asked.

He must have interpreted her tone as believing he was some sort of incendiary hoodlum from off the streets, because he was close to looking offended as he responded with, "The professional kind."

"You fight professionally? What does that mean, boxing?" the conversation was beginning to turn away from specific, therapy-related topics as were usual during the first session, but she quickly justified it as a means to getting to know her patient.

"You heard of UFC? MMA?" his lackluster attitude towards his "profession" made her think that he wasn't all that passionate about it. A close look at his eyes told her otherwise. They were wide, and blazing in an animalistic way. Maybe he was just trying to intimidate her, or maybe reminiscing.

"UFC, yes. Is that MMA?"

"Yeah."

"What does MMA stand for?"

"Mixed Martial Arts."

"Martial arts, really?" she hoped he didn't mistake the light tone for mocking, as she was genuinely interested. Her brother had been a fan of UFC, but she'd never taken the opportunity to ask what it was. For all she knew, she could be sitting in a room with one of his favorite fighters, and she'd have no idea. "Is it real, or is it like WWE?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

His answer was pretty straightforward, and Ada released a short laugh. "I didn't know," she said amusedly through a smile, her eyebrows raised. "Have you been fighting for awhile?"

"Not really, not professionally."

"Since you went AWOL?" His silence let her know that her assumption was more or less correct. "Do you like fighting?"

"It's all right."

She took this as his version of _'yes, I very much like it, so much that I made a career out of it'_ and asked, "Does it help?" Ada knew that he understood the context of the question, but he didn't answer, so she continued, "It's a good thing if it does. Martial arts are a disciplined and respectable activity. I encourage a lot of the people I see to find a hobby where they can take all of their pent up emotion and translate that energy into something productive. It seems you beat me to it."

"You think putting the beat on someone is productive?" Tommy asked, mild confusion in his voice.

"Sure, as long as it's in a controlled environment with willing contenders," she said simply. "Besides, you would spend the majority of the time training, wouldn't you? That's the most important part psychologically. Dedication says a lot about how willing you are to better yourself as a person."

"You do anything?" he inclined his head slightly, expressing his personal interest.

"I dance," she said with a smile, and laughed as his eyes widened slightly in general surprise. "Not professionally, mind you, but it is a lifelong hobby."

"What, ballet?"

"If only," Ada shook her head. "No, I do ballroom, Latin ballroom, specifically. Like the tango and samba?" He shrugged, letting her know that he had no idea what that meant. "It's fun, but it all reverberates back to commitment. If you aren't committed to something, you're never going to get any better at it. With that said, are you in some sort of physical therapy for your shoulder?" He gave a single, sharp nod. "Excellent. I'd like to stay updated with your progress, if you don't mind. I'm happy to hear that you do mixed martial arts, and I think sticking with it is very healthy for you."

Upon another stretch of silence, Ada took her hint and slid over a paper off the top of the stack and held out a pen. "I think we've taken care of all we need to today. Just go ahead and sign off on your attendance record, and we're good to go." He took the pen from her and scribbled a signature before standing up at record speed. "It was nice to meet you, Tommy," she said, as she took the paper back to skim over it. She didn't bother to stand up, shake his hand, or see him to the door. He wasn't interested in professional and standard gestures, and neither was she. "I'll see you on Friday."

Within seconds, her office was vacant of enigmatic ex-soldier.

* * *

_Hello! Thank you for stopping by. Tom Hardy's character in the beautiful, poignant film really stuck with me. There aren't many fics out there about Warrior yet, and I wish there would be. It's such a brilliant story to expand on, and very open-ended, which makes the opportunity all the more fun. :) Anyway, here is my contribution, and my take on the life of Tommy and the Conlons after Sparta. Tell me what you think! _


	2. Riverside Revelations

**Coming Home**

_-The Humbling River-_

"Hello, Tommy." Ada smile at her Monday/Friday as she passed by, and he stood at the sight of her. "How are you doing today?"

"All right," he said, allowing himself to be led down the hall towards her office. However, they passed her office, and instead headed out the emergency exit at the end of the hall. "Where we going?" he asked, looking down at his odd and unconventional doctor as she held the door open for him.

"Outside," she said as though the answer couldn't be more obvious. "It's nice out today. I thought we could take a walk down to the park and have our meeting there. Give the office a break. Is that okay?"

"Sure," he said, and followed the pace that Ada set.

Ada was coming up on completing her third week with Tommy Conlon. Five sessions with the fighter, and all she'd been able to get out of him was the details of what happened in the incident of friendly fire in Iraq. She knew about his deceased brother-in-arms Manny Fernandez, how he constantly worried about his widow and her children down in El Paso, and that he'd promised to make sure they were taken care of.

There was a lot of guilt there. He and Manny had been brothers above all else, if not by blood. To be the only survivor of a situation in which the people he knew and loved had died all around him by the hands of American soldiers, is something fit for irreversible trauma. His guilt translated into anger, and his anger shut him off from the rest of the world. He did not have any personal relations. He didn't date. He didn't have friends. His family was a closed book that she could not get him to open easily. He worked, and he trained, and even then those two things came hand-in-hand. He was isolated and allowing himself all the time in the world to be haunted by the past, and consumed by his rage. And that concerned her.

Ada looked around as they sat down on the lawn. Her office was on the waterfront outside the city, and one only needed to cross the street to find the park. For the most part, it consisted of a lengthy patch of healthy grass, but at the far end was a play structure, and at the other a stone water feature that doubled as some sort of wading pool for the city kids on a hot day. Today, children swarmed both ends like bees around a borage flower, leaving the lawn fairly clear. A sidewalk marked the barrier between them and the Ohio River, and across the river was downtown Pittsburgh at its finest. On this side of the city, she could appreciate the view of each individual, unique building erected tall in the clear sky, but without the noise and chaotic bustle happening in and between the remarkable architecture.

She looked over at Tommy to find that he was taking in the sights, too. "How's physical therapy?" she asked.

"It's fine," he responded with a shrug as he stared out over the water.

"Do you think you'll have your full range of motion back soon?"

"Naw," he said, shaking his head. "Looking at November before I can start putting in real work."

"Limited to legs and cardio for another two months?" Ada felt true sympathy. Such a restricted and redundant workout routine would drive her nuts. "Poor thing."

"It's not that bad," he said, glancing over at her. "I can do planks again easy. Next session I try pushups."

Ada caught his attention via glowing eyes and a bright smile. "Do I detect some optimism?" she asked comically. "By god, it is! Tommy Conlon possesses positivity."

"Now, now hold on," he said, rocking back out of her view of sight, but she turned on him, and caught the lasting effects of a fleeting grin that graced his face.

"Holy shit, it's a breakthrough," Ada continued to narrate the situation through faint laughter. "He smiled! Tommy Conlon can smile, ladies and gentlemen."

"Ahh, woman," he groaned, rubbing his hands over his face as he directed his attention to the water once more.

She shook her head at his reaction and said, "You have a wonderful smile, Tommy. I hope to see it more." She looked at him for a moment more, and then slapped her knees, adjusting herself so that she could look at him clearly without being directly in front of him. "Now, let's talk about something." His expression transformed into a hard stare. Whenever she said this, the 'something' she wanted to talk about was the 'something' he didn't. "You live in Pittsburgh, and your medical records say you're from Pittsburgh, but your military records say you enlisted in Tacoma, Washington. Can you elaborate on this a little bit, please?"

"What does it matter?" he asked.

"Because, I need to know about your life to try to know you," she said softly, watching him closely. This was a subject that would not be an easy breach. "So far I know of about…a year of your life. It's very important for this process that I develop a more detailed timeline. I want to know where you come from, what you've been through. What fuels and what drives you to be the person you are now."

Tommy shook his head, tightening his lips against a sneer as he averted his glare to the ground. "If this got nothing to do with war, then it don't matter."

Ada weighed her words carefully before opening her mouth, "I think that you might have experienced things growing up that have stuck with you. The effects of these experiences aren't exactly PTSD, per say, but I would go as far as to suggest that you have carried them with you throughout your life, and they have…played a large role in shaping you and how you interact with others."

"Man I don't know," he rested his arms on his knees, feigning indifference. "I'm here for PTSD, I don't need to go into that other shit."

"I think you do, Tommy," she kept her voice light, and moved out of his line of sight to sit directly beside him. "If you're worried about pity or judgment…that doesn't happen here. And as a doctor, I'm sworn to confidentiality by law. It's just you and me. We can sit in silence for the rest of the hour, and you can be annoyed and you can hate me, but I'm going to keep pushing this. If you hold on to these things for too long, they're going to end up killing you, Tommy."

"Is that so bad?" he mumbled, an ironic smile turning up the corners of his lips.

Ada furrowed her eyebrows and slapped him lightly on the arm. "Keep saying things like that and I'll be obligated to put you under suicide watch. Please don't make me do that. It's way too much work." Tommy released an airy snort of laughter, and directed his attention once more to the city beyond the river. They didn't speak for a long time, and after awhile Ada gave up watching him, instead leaning back against the grass, and closed her eyes against the warmth of the sun. The man beside her was certainly a fighter, in more contexts than just physical contact. She would have given up on any other patient with matching difficulty four sessions ago, handing out prescriptions like they were candy on Halloween and carrying out mandatory therapy sessions by repeating the phrase "how does that make you feel?" in as many variations as she could until she annoyed even herself.

But Tommy Conlon was different. He kept her on her toes; kept her trying. Kept her _wanting _to try, which was a something she hadn't felt in her career since she first began it. She wanted to figure him out, and find a way to help him cope with his losses. He was a man with a lot of pain, but he deserved happiness, or some variant of it. She truly wanted these eight weeks to influence him in some way, positively.

"You're from Seattle, right?" Tommy's voice snapped her out of her daze, and she opened her eyes, blinking rapidly as they readjusted to daylight.

"I am," she said, sitting up.

"If you're from Seattle, then you must've been to Tacoma."

Ada nodded, "Plenty of times."

"Then you'll know how much of a shithole it is." She couldn't dispute him there, so she continued to listen silently. "I moved there, with my mom, when I was fourteen. Didn't really have a plan, or destination, other than far away from Pop as we could get. Just kind of ended up there." Tommy rubbed his hand over his mouth, and she could see the muscles of his jaw clenching tightly.

"Why were you trying to get away from you father?" she asked very quietly after a few moments, hoping it would feel as though the question were coming from somewhere deep inside him, rather than from the therapist next to him.

"Fourteen years was enough," he said with a nod. "Probably went on a lot longer than that, but fourteen years is what I knew. Pop's an alpha, and a drinker. And when he's drunk he liked to show us just how dominant he really is."

Ada didn't need him to elaborate to know exactly what he meant. "What made you guys decide it was time to leave?"

"Mom always took the brunt of the beatings trying to defend us," he said after some thought. "But we were teenagers then, all smart mouths and dumb pride. The more we stood up for ourselves, the meaner he got. Stay any longer and he would've killer her. Killed her anyway."

Her gaze shifted from the grass to him at this statement. His arms circled his bended knees loosely, resting on his kneecaps, and he was focused on the scenery directly in front of him. Generally, his features were relaxed, appearing almost completely calm. But his eyes were widened slightly, as past memories continued to protrude from deep in the back of his mind. "How did she die?"

"She was sick back here. But we didn't know. It was fine for a while, but things started getting bad after a year. Couldn't afford help, so she turned to God. Begged Him to save her. Took Him two years to hear her, and He killer her instead." Tommy turned to her then, peering at her over his shoulder. "Put her in the ground, then joined the Corp."

His abusive, alcoholic father remained in Pittsburgh, while Tommy and his mother moved west. By his use of "we" while talking about becoming teenagers, Ada deduced that he did in fact have siblings, and connected that to her earlier assumption that the man paying for his appointment fees was in fact his brother. Brendan Conlon was the only one unaccounted for in his series of events. "Where was your brother in all this?"

"My brother is dead," he reminded her firmly before continuing, "Brendan Conlon stayed with Pop. He was supposed to go, but he stayed…for some girl."

"How old was Brendan when you left?"

"Sixteen."

Trying to explain the logic of a sixteen year-old to Tommy would be a waste of time with absolutely no positive outcome. But she understood why his brother would have stayed, even if he was being left alone in a house with the father. Sixteen is a strange age in which the feeling of intimacy has the tendency to trump all else. He would have abandoned everything to stay with the girl, even his own identity, if she would only love him for it. At that time, at that age, the girl would have been the most important thing in the world to him. There would have been no changing his mind.

"Did your father or Brendan ever try to contact you or your mother?" His answer was a shake of the head. "Did you try to contact them when she died?" He hesitated, and then shook his head.

Evelyn nodded, and allowed a silence to fall over them as she succumbed to her thoughts. That was enough for today. She wouldn't ask anything further from him, and he understood.

This was it. This was the source of Tommy's resentful and introverted behavior. He'd witnessed the frequent beating of his mother and his brother, and had experienced himself, the violent authority enforced by his drunken father's hand. When Brendan refused to leave with him, it felt as though his brother had abandoned him. As a kid, he watched his mother die slowly in a strange place far away from home, and as an adult, the circumstances of his best friend's death were similar, though Manny's death would have been much quicker. Regardless, anyone he ever loved either betrayed him or left him in one way or another. Whether it is subconsciously or not, he recognized this, and it hindered his ability to reach out to others. To accept the things that have happened, and to forgive the wrongs of those who are still here. He couldn't get past it, and couldn't move forward. He didn't know how, and nobody had ever been there to show him.

There was more to the story, she knew. The fact that Tommy did not acknowledge Brendan as his brother revealed a remaining strain in their relationship. He would be harboring much resentment toward his brother for choosing a girl over him and their mother. Time, and Tommy's experiences with taking care of his mother alone would have only augmented those opinions tenfold. But Brendan was paying for Tommy's medical expenses. At one point or another, they reunited in adulthood. It was a possibility that Brendan was trying to make amends with his estranged sibling. And though Tommy was clearly resisting, he accepted his brother's help when he truly needed it. It was a step in the right direction.

Ada reached out and gently touched Tommy on the forearm, garnering his attention almost immediately. She offered up a small smile, and a newfound appreciation for the strength of this troubled individual settled inside her. "Thank you for trusting me with this, Tommy," she said.

He nodded, his eyes searching her face for a moment. He turned away then, and she did too, and they sat side by side in a comfortable silence for the remainder of their hour.


	3. The Invitation

**Coming Home**

_-A Decent Proposal-_

Ada was quick to realize that Tommy was more willing to talk when he wasn't closed inside the confined space of her office. He liked to be outside, and he liked to be moving. When he was, he opened up to her significantly more than when he did sitting at her desk. And so, she resorted to conducting their appointments outside, and on foot. A half-hour walk in any direction, allowing him to lead the way, and then the remainder of the hour to find their way back to the office. He was beginning to get used to her, and seemed to appreciate her attempts to accommodate his comforts. He reciprocated her efforts by opening up just a little more every day.

He admitted to returning to Pittsburgh after going AWOL, where he reunited with his father Paddy Conlon. Paddy had apparently sobered up, but Tommy's faith in his father had died a long time ago. His attempts to make amends with his son and beg for forgiveness were thrown back in his face. Tommy had no interest in forgiving him, no intention to forget a single wrong he ever made, and no desire to form any kind of relationship with the man outside of athlete and trainer. But he still loved his father. It was evident in his rage when he spoke of him, and in his steadfast determination to keep him away.

Brendan Conlon had been the one to dislocate Tommy's shoulder. Ada would be lying if she said she wasn't completely shocked upon hearing the story. When Tommy said he was a professional fighter, he truly meant it. He and his brother had been the final two in a tournament worth a lot of money. Brendan had pinned him by the end of the third round, applied the necessary pressure on the joint, and the rest was history. Apparently it had been big news at the time, and his war stories went national. That was the night he'd been found by the military, and the night it was discovered that the two contenders were related. Ada conceded that with such a dramatic turn of events, tickets to the fights that night would have been well worth their money.

Though it was only through second-hand knowledge, Brendan Conlon seemed to differ greatly from his little brother. Tommy did not speak fondly of him, did not speak of him much at all, but from what she could tell, Brendan seemed more than willing to move forward from the troubled past with his brother and welcome him into his life again. But he had handicapped Tommy, and taken the money he had promised to Manny's widow, and this was what Tommy recognized above his efforts to be a brother again.

It had taken weeks to try to get him to understand Brendan's intentions. She began with when he was sixteen, and why he had stayed with the girl. Then, she moved on to the plausible reasons why he never contacted him and their mother after they left – the same reasons why Tommy never tried to contact him. Fear, anger, guilt. Finally, Brendan fought against Tommy in the tournament with purpose. For whatever reason, he needed that money just as badly as him. She attempted to make him see that losing only meant he would be given more opportunities to win, and the fact that his brother was reaching out to him now was not out of pity, or to smear the victory in his face, but because the chances were that Brendan wanted to find a way to right his wrongs and earn the love and trust of his little brother back.

Tommy did not sympathize with Brendan Conlon, but he was trying to understand, and that was all that mattered to her.

"Two more weeks left," Ada said as they walked down the familiar cemented path along the river. Tommy was fond of the water, and they travelled this direction more often than not. "You excited to be rid of me?"

He gave a quiet laugh and tucked his hands into the pocket of his jeans, eyes averting to the ground. "I'm gonna be lost trying to figure out what I'm feeling without you there to tell me."

"Oh don't worry," she responded, waving her hand. "I'll make up some flash cards for you. You'll just have to flip through them to find the one that matches your face. Definitions are on the back."

He seemed to be deciphering whether she was serious or joking, and when her face broke into a grin, he shook his head with a scoff and continued to walk. "I'm starting to lift weights again."

"Congratulations!" Ada's exclamation was sincere. She knew how much this meant to him. "Feels good to get back in the game, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," he said. "It's still awhile off before I can try the heavy stuff, but we're thinking if I train hard enough, I'll be ready to compete in time for the tournament."

"Same one?"

"Yeah, they're bringing it back. UFC wanted an annual title fight, and Sparta was a big enough hit. It's not as much money, and I think they're expanding it. Playoffs, or some shit. Not just who's got the hookups. You got to fight your way in."

"Do you think you'll be ready in time for playoffs?"

"Psh, plenty of time," Tommy dismissed her mild concern as though it were the most ridiculous thing he'd heard all day. "I could fight now, except I like to win."

Ada laughed. "Yes, that's always nice. Just don't wear yourself out before then, all right?"

"Not gonna happen," he said, his eyes soft as he looked down at her. They paced themselves slowly, and Ada caught Tommy periodically chancing glances at her. He wanted to say something, but was trying to figure out how to. So she remained silent, allowing him the freedom to choose when speak up. "Doctor Ada, can I ask you something?" he finally said.

"Yes, Tommy," she responded.

"You know how you said I should try to get a hold of Brendan, just because? Well I did."

_Fantastic, Tommy_, she praised him in her head as she asked lightly, "And how did it go?"

"Fine, I guess…" he trailed off. "He invited me to some…_thing_, at his house. I don't know what it is. Barbeque or some shit."

Ada stopped him in his step. "This is good, Tommy, this is really good. Did you tell him you'd go?"

"That's the thing," he said stiffly. "He's got the wife and the kid thing, white picket fence bullshit, fuck knows who else is gonna be there. I can't do that."

For some, it would take a translator to decipher the meaning of the things that came out of Tommy's mouth when he was feeling some sort of extreme emotion. In this case it appeared to be nervousness, and it made Ada smile, glad that she seemed to have a Tommy translator built right into her. "It doesn't matter if you'll fit in or not. Brendan wants you there. It's going to be uncomfortable, yes. But if it's a barbeque, all you really have to do is pick up some potato salad from the store, show up, kick back, have a beer, and eat till your heart's content."

"That's asking a lot." The statement was affirmed with a nod as he eyed her. "Can you go with me?" he finally blurted, revealing his true intention for bringing up the subject. "Just this once. Just…I need to be talked through it so I don't do something stupid."

"Well –," Ada hesitated, never having been asked something like this. She shook her head to organize her thoughts, and continued, "Tommy, if you think you'll do something stupid, then you probably shouldn't go."

"I want to," he said hastily, surprising her even further. "I'm trying, Ada."

It took all she had not to melt right on the spot at those words. She was getting through to him. Six weeks of true dedication to Tommy Conlon's case was proving successful. Not only did he understand the importance behind reconnecting with his brother, but there was a want inside him as well. It would be slow to bring itself to the surface, but sure enough he wished for a brother again. "I'm so happy to hear that, Tommy," she said sincerely. "But I'm not sure if it's appropriate for me to attend."

"Patient-therapist thing, yeah I know," he waved her excuse aside. "Technically you won't be my shrink anymore. It's the day after my last appointment. As soon as you sign off on those little sheets and mail them in, I'm a free man."

"So I take it you won't be coming in for any follow-ups then, will you?" she asked playfully, glaring at his expression, which gave away his intent to run for the hills and never come back after his eight weeks.

"Come on. You said you do something special for the patients who cooperate. Something not therapy. This could be your thing for me." He had her there.

"Touché," she said, and allowed herself a moment to justify the breach of boundaries that he was asking. Technically, he _wouldn't _be her patient anymore, and as long as she didn't treat him again, it would be fine. Even then, it wouldn't necessarily be considered inappropriate to offer advice so long as the relationship remained professional. "All right," Ada finally agreed. "But I'm going as your friend, not your doctor. No need to make things more uncomfortable than they already will be."

"He lives in Philadelphia," he added, hesitating to look up at her, as though the significant distance would end up becoming a deal breaker.

"It's a good thing I drive a Prius then, isn't it?" She laughed as the revelation of her vehicle of choice earned a groan of distaste from the fighter.

"You're a fucking doctor, and you have a Prius?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, and I love her," Ada defended.

"I'm not riding in no Prius."

She cocked her head in mock-disbelief. "It's a long walk to Philly." At his silence, she smiled triumphantly, and resumed walking. "Now…what do you Irish eat? I make a mean pudding cake. We could bring that."


	4. Family Reunion

**Coming Home**

_-The Tommy/Tess Association-_

"What's off limits?"

"Mom, Pop, and the fight."

"What's okay?"

"Everything else."

"What's off limits?"

"Mom, Pop, and the fight."

"Good." Ada sat back in her chair and eyed Tommy as she gulped down her coffee like it was going out of style. She was not a morning person, especially on the weekend when it was her every right as an employed human being to sleep in as long as she wanted. The barbeque started at two, and a five-hour drive ahead of them meant that she was up at six and at the office by eight for her ex-patient. That gave her half an hour to brief him on conversational etiquette with strangers, people he didn't like, or those that fell into the category of both. He was doing well, so far.

Since he was no longer her patient, Ada took the opportunity as woman instead of as a doctor to assess Tommy. He'd always been muscular, but with his increased training, he was beginning to add to that muscle mass. The fabric of his solid gray tee shirt stretched across his form fittingly, and the black ink of multiple tattoos peeked out from under the sleeves of both arms, and from the neck collar. He was a good looking man, and she had definitely taken that for granted the past eight weeks.

"You look different," he said, which made her laugh as she realized he had been assessing her, too. Of course she'd look different. Her hair was out of its usual variation of some form of bun, she'd applied her makeup a little more thickly than the natural tones appropriate for work, and instead of a pantsuit she wore a sundress. "Your hair looks good down." _Modest Tommy_, she thought to herself with a smile.

"Thank you!" she said. "I do enjoy a good barbeque."

"Hope I don't ruin your opinion."

"Behave, and we'll be fine."

"I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Tommy, you're a grown ass man. Act like one."

He froze, and for a moment she thought her informal kidding had offended him. However, he released an airy breath of laughter, leaning to one side slightly as he regarded her. "I like this Ada. She can stay."

She glared at Tommy over her coffee mug. "You like me as a therapist. Don't lie."

"Yeah…you're not too bad."

By nine o'clock, they'd navigated city traffic and were on the open road. Tommy was not happy to be riding in what he referred to as "the vagina". Regardless of the deeply tinted windows of the Prius, he kept his sunglasses on and his head down, and continuously beleaguered her for her awful taste in cars.

"It gets wonderful gas mileage," she defended. "And it's good for the environment."

"Don't feed me that bullshit. You just have bad taste. These cars are for seventy year-olds and sad suburban housewives. You aren't either of those."

Ada glanced over at him as he flipped through her CD collection, his aviators pushed up on his forehead to get a better look at the covers. "At least I have a car."

"I'm a city boy, I don't need to drive," he said, completely unphased. "You got bad taste in music, too."

"I have great taste in music! What are you talking about?" He held up a Katy Perry CD with a pointed stare, and she looked away quickly. "That was an impulse buy, give me a break."

"We're going car shopping when we get back to the Burgh," he said, giving up on finding something decent to listen to and resorting to flipping through radio channels. Tommy took his shotgun rider duty as DJ very seriously. "Heading straight for the Mercedes lot. Now _that's _a car fit for a shrink."

Ada only laughed, finding his determination to save her from her unattractive excuse for a vehicle, and the fact that he was so concerned about it at all, quite amusing.

The drive went fairly smoothly, with silence the most of the way. Whenever Tommy became incessantly fidgety and impatient, Ada noticed and would pull off the road, or into a rest area if there was one conveniently nearby, so he could get out and walk around a bit. It didn't bother her, how frequently they had to stop. The anticipation of reuniting with his estranged brother for the first time since he was taken into custody by military police would be nerve wracking. Not knowing what to expect, or how to behave properly when there was over a decade of things left unsaid between the brothers. Having to sit for five hours in a small space while he went through the motions would be painful. She could feel a small sense of nervousness fluttering inside her as well. Not for meeting these people, but for Tommy. She prayed that today would not backtrack any of the progress they'd made.

The last half-hour was the worst for him, and as they entered within the city limits, Tommy's hands shook, and his voice was low while he read off directions to her. Brendan Conlon lived on the outskirts of Philadelphia, outside of the city hustle and in the quiet of the suburbs. As she drove along, Ada was all but reminded of her neighborhood growing up in Seattle. The decent-sized houses were individual in their own design, and the yards were kept trimmed and tidied. SUVs and minivans sat outside in the driveways, and homeowners worked away in their garden beds, preparing the plants for the onset of fall.

As she made a final right into a cul-de-sac, Tommy groaned beside her. She glanced over to see him rubbing his face, eyes shut tight as she rounded and parked at the curb in front of the proper house. "Ready?" she asked softly, turning to him.

He stared straight ahead, and after a moment he exhaled deeply through gritted teeth. "Fuck it," he grunted, opening the car door and propelling out of the vehicle. Ada followed him at a slower pace, first grabbing the dessert she'd made from the back seat, then strolling up to join him on the front porch, where he'd stopped. He hesitated, glancing down at her as though waiting for further direction. She gave him an encouraging smile, and after a pause he reached his hand out, pressing hard against the button that triggered the ring of the doorbell.

"Take off your sunglasses," she muttered to him, and he hastily obliged, hanging them off the collar of his shirt as they heard footsteps approach. A second later the door opened, and Brendan Conlon appeared.

Only his eyes identified him as Tommy's brother. All else was different, physically. He was a ginger, as opposed to Tommy's dark brown hair. He was taller, thinner, and held himself with a serene confidence. However, upon laying eyes on his brother, that tranquility gave way to shock and awe. "Tommy…" he trailed off, clearly not knowing what to say. His wide, bright blue eyes searched over his brother as though they couldn't believe that he was really standing in front of him. After a few seconds, he recovered from his astonishment, and his eyes shifted to Ada. "You brought someone."

"Yeah," Tommy said shortly. "Hope you don't mind."

"No, man," Brendan returned to examining his brother, astounded that they were standing together, speaking civilly. "Not at all. Come on in."

He stood back, allowing them to step over the threshold and into his home. Tommy took in his surrounds like a Rottweiler on alert, a scowl set on his face, eyes searching every surface and cranny of a house that was clearly owned by a family that was well-off. Ada took the opportunity to introduce herself to Brendan. She shifted the glass pan to one side, freeing her right hand. "Ada DuPrae," she said with her best professional smile. "It's really nice to meet you."

"Brendan Conlon," he took her outstretched hand in greeting. "I recognize your name. You're the psychiatrist I set Tommy up with. You brought your doctor, Tommy?"

The brother turned from his investigation to acknowledge Brendan briefly. "She ain't my shrink anymore, man."

"It's true," Ada said, nodding. "Tommy completed his eight weeks yesterday. I'm accompanying him as a friend today, as a gesture of appreciation for doing so well in therapy."

"That's great to hear man," Brendan smiled at Tommy, who had turned away again. His smile faded for a moment, and he glanced down at the ground. However, his eyes were back up on Ada almost instantly, as he accepted that much of his communication with his brother that afternoon would have to be through her. "Well, everyone's out back. It's just a little barbeque we're hosting with friends from work and the neighborhood. End of the summer thing. Grab a drink, help yourself to some food. I'll round up Tess and the girls, and they can meet their uncle." His gaze shifted to the man over her shoulder.

"Where should I put this?" Ada asked, gesturing to the dessert in her arm.

"Oh! I'll take it," Brendan relieved her of the pan, and glanced down through the plastic wrap to the contents inside. "Chocolate pudding cake, family favorite." He grinned at her, and eyed his brother once more. "Thank you. Let me put this outside, and I'll meet you guys out there."

Ada watched Brendan exit the foyer, and as soon as he was out of sight, she turned and punched Tommy in the arm. He rounded on her, scowl still firmly in place. "First of all," she hissed, "wipe that scowl off your face and stand up straight. Secondly, I don't care if it's Kim Jong Il's party you're at, if he's the host you acknowledge him with your full attention and your full respect." His eyes widened at her chastising, but she stood firm and continued, "And scoping out the house is supposed to be done when no one's looking. Don't stand there in front of Brendan, evaluating his home like you're giving it a fucking appraisal. It's rude. Do you understand?"

His glare was vicious, but eventually it relented as he shifted out of his fighter's slouch and into his full height. "Thank you," she said, patting his chest. "Now, we're going to go outside, and we're going to try this again with the wife and the kids. And you're going to be nice."

"I'll try," he said gruffly. "The kids, whatever. Kids are kids. But _her_…" he shook his head. "No amount of 'nice' is gonna change that."

Ada furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "Wait – his wife, is that the girl? He married the girl he stayed for?"

"Yep."

Tommy not only had to face his brother today, but the woman that played a vital role in disintegrating their relationship all those years ago. It would have helped her to know that before. The potential for something to go awry just doubled its chances. "Nevertheless," she said. "Just because you don't like someone, does not mean that you can't be cordial while in the company of others. We talked about this, remember? You wanted to be here, so we are. You wanted to try, so we're going to. All right?"

At his quiet response of "all right", she grabbed him by the shirt sleeve and dragged him off in the direction that Brendan had gone, through a dining room to the kitchen where the sliding glass door of the back porch sat open. From the kitchen, they could hear the sounds of music, voices, laughter, and screaming children. Without stopping or giving him any more time to prepare himself, she pushed him straight out into the action.

The Conlons had a good-sized back yard, and it was littered with occupied lawn chairs and fold-out tables. Some of the women fussed over the food table up on the deck, while a few of the men stood by the grill with beers in hand. Most were out in the yard, making conversation and keeping an eye on the children as they swerved through the mazes of human obstacles. There was a wooden swing set erected at the far end of the yard complete with its very own fort and slide, and it seemed to be quite popular among the young ones.

Ada stood beside Tommy, smiling as she appreciated the normalcy of it all. She leaned into him and mumbled, "See? Not so bad," and laughed when her only response was a grunt. "So grumpy," she joked, strolling over to the cooler and plucking a beer for the both of them from the ice.

"I shouldn't be here," he said, eyes wide as he scanned the crowd of families.

"You're fine," Ada responded, grasping his arm in encouragement. "You're just not used to this."

"Used to what?" Tommy's eyes followed a small child as he ran by.

"What a happy family looks like."

The expression that fleeted across his face was one that Ada had never seen on him, and would probably not see again for quite some time. Envy. "He stayed. And everything worked out."

"Hey," Ada caught his eye and pulled him down to her level, keeping his face only inches in front of hers so she could make sure he was listening closely. "You can have this, Tommy. You can. You're just working on a little bit of a different timeline than Brendan. Be patient with yourself." She leaned back assess him, and his eyes were searching as he registered her words. "Okay?" He nodded. "Okay," she repeated, glancing over his shoulder. "Now put your game face on, Conlon. The family is coming."

The family of four looked picture perfect as they approached. Brendan played the part of the strong rock, a loving husband and doting father. The wife was a beautiful blonde who looked amazing for raising two small children on the other side of thirty. Their children, two jubilant young girls full of life, allowed themselves to be steered by the shoulders towards Ada and Tommy.

"Girls, I want you to meet your uncle Tommy," Brendan said, crouching down to their height. "Tommy, this is Rosie and Emily. My daughters." The girls and Tommy stared at each other, and for Ada the sight was quite amusing. Tommy didn't know what to do, because he had little to no experience dealing with kids. The girls didn't know what to do because they were too young to understand the situation. Yet they all shared the same wide-eyed wonder. "Tommy is my brother," Brendan continued, speaking to the little ones. "He was a soldier, and he was fighting to keep us safe in a country far away. That's why you never met him before."

The girls remained silent, not able to fully comprehend what their father meant, but completely understanding that there was a big man that daddy wanted them to meet. They didn't assess Tommy as a threat because of Brendan's familiarity with him, and the term "brother" seemed to register with them, but regardless of this he was still a very large human being, and some apprehension was present.

After a moment, Tommy surprised the two parents by squatting in front of the girls. "How old are you?" he asked, regarding the both of them. Ada allowed herself a quiet laugh as he followed the plan of action she taught him earlier that morning should he have to interact with the children: break the ice with the universal child's favorite question.

Their eager responses came as a "three" and a "six", and there was even some finger action from the youngest. The oldest reciprocated the question. "Me?" Tommy's surprised expression was comical and friendly. "I'm going to be thirty-one years old pretty soon. I'm old."

"My birthday is December twelfth," said Emily. "I'm gonna be seven."

"No way!" Tommy exclaimed softly. "My birthday is in December, too. High five for December babies!" The young girl's whole hand could stretch across just his palm. Ada mentally tipped her hat to the days of the Kodak moment.

It didn't take Emily and Rosie long to accept Tommy into the family, and soon they were running off to rejoin the other kids. Tommy stood up again with Brendan, and looked down at Ada, silently asking her if he did all right. She nodded, grasping his hand briefly.

Brendan was visibly relieved that the introduction had gone so well. "I knew they'd like you Tommy," he said through a sigh. "Emily's an athlete at heart, like you. Softball in the spring and soccer in the fall. Remember when we did baseball for a while? I couldn't bat worth a damn. Still can't." He nodded after his daughters. "You'll have to teach her how to do it right."

"Sure," was Tommy's response, and with a hard stare from Ada, he offered up a small smile.

"Tess," Brendan brought his wife into the conversation for introductions. "This is Ada DuPrae, Tommy's therapist-"

"Ex-therapist," the brother interjected.

"…Therapist turned friend," he corrected himself.

"Tess, nice to meet you," the wife's greeting was as firm as her handshake, and Ada appreciated her authority. "Tommy," she nodded once at the man, and he did not return the gesture. Ada refrained from elbowing the fighter, as the coldness was mutual. The Tommy/Tess association would be a tough one tame. "Ada's a pretty old-fashioned name," Tess shifted her attention. "You from the south?"

"No, Seattle," Ada said.

"Have you lived in the Burgh for long?" Brendan asked, and she noticed that Tommy was listening intently, as he knew virtually nothing personal about his doctor lady.

"About a year."

"Not long at all. What made you make the big move, if you don't mind me asking?"

Ada smiled politely at their curiosity, and she weighed her words carefully. "The opportunity presented itself," was the response she settled for.

"Do you like being a therapist?" Tess asked.

"Not particularly, no," Ada responded honestly, used to the standard list of questions people asked when trying to identify with a stranger. "But I did enjoy working with Tommy."

"Why?" It was a question burning in the eyes of all three adults, but Tommy was the one to voice it.

"Because you're different," was all she said.

The afternoon progressed as easily as anyone would have expected. Tommy remained quiet and brooding, however Ada noticed that he was in distinctively better spirits after he had some food in his system. Some was an understatement. She'd been saving a small table in the corner of the yard for the two of them when he approached, his first helping of food piled dangerously high on a flimsy paper plate. The man could eat, and he returned to the table of goods as often as though he were catering to the company of a dear old friend.

When the prime afternoon crowd dwindled down to a manageable number, Brendan joined the two at their table, pulling up a chair and angling it to keep an eye on the happenings around them. Tommy sat nursing a beer as he let his food settle. Ada was focused intently on the ice cream she'd nabbed before the kids could finish it off. Not one of them spoke. They didn't need to, not yet. The brothers were allowing themselves the simple joy of each other's company, which they'd been deprived of for so long.

Ada made herself all but invisible, giving them this moment.

"All I'm saying is, it's a good idea. Sure it's got its flaws, but what doesn't? You never know what's going to happen. _Never_. Make healthcare universal and it takes all the worry out of it. People can be pissed off all they want, but they're going to be thanking their lucky stars when something does happen and they don't have to take out a second mortgage to pay the hospital bills."

"Words right out of my mouth," Ada lifted her wine glass in a toast to Brendan.

At some point, Tess had joined the trio, and conversation began flowing. They stuck to more polite topics at first, like where they went to school, and what they did for a living. Then Tess popped open a bottle of warm, encouraging pinot noir for her and Ada, and the brothers helped themselves to a couple shots of tequila for the sake of a little Dutch courage. Soon, their relaxed minds justified the turn to the more notoriously taboo topics of conversation: money, politics, and religion.

"Won't that affect you, though?" Tess rounded on Ada. "You'd be taking a pretty hefty pay cut if that happened."

"It'll be inconvenient for some, especially since a medical education is so expensive in this country. But personally I wouldn't mind. Healthcare should not be a luxury, it is a necessity, and our right to it shouldn't be defined by socioeconomic status."

"At the rate this world's going, business will be thriving no matter what, isn't that right?" Brendan said through laughter as he piled another bite of pudding cake onto his fork. The brothers shared in a similar appetite, she noticed amusedly.

"I'll never be wanting for clients, let's just say that," her voice was as smooth as her smile, and it earned a chuckle from the adults. "In fact, I could bear to lose some of them."

"You really don't like being a shrink, do you?" Tess asked passively as she began to gather empty plates and bowls out of conditioned habit. "Tommy must have been a handful for you."

Ada was ready to laugh the comment off without putting hardly any thought into its implications, but Tommy beat her to the punch. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Tess?"

The late afternoon sun continued to pour warm rays of light down into the backyard, but it could have very well been the dead of winter for how quickly a cold silence fell over the table. No one mistook his light tone for good humor. He patiently waited for an answer with sardonic expectancy, gray eyes glowing with scornful distaste

"Tommy…" Ada hissed a warning, but he ignored her.

"I –," Tess looked to her husband, silently asking for help, but Brendan was focused on his brother and finding a way to snuff out the spark before it could catch fire. "I just mean that you've been through a lot, Tommy."

"And what the fuck would you know about that? You don't know a goddamn thing about me."

"That's my wife you're talking to like that, Tommy," Brendan's initial discretion quickly gave way to a stern defense.

"Then you tell your little wife to keep her ignorant mouth shut."

"What the fuck is your problem?" Tess had a mean bark, and probably a meaner bite if Brendan didn't physically work to keep her sat in her seat.

"My problem?" the laugh Tommy produced was venomous, and promised an ugly, premature end to a day with such potential. "Your wife has one bad memory, man. That or she's just fucking stupid."

"Enough!" Brendan jumped to his feet, and Tommy was on the reflex, following him just as quickly. The older brother flushed with anger, while the younger succumbed to an animalistic persona, wild delight spreading across his features, silently begging him to try and take a swing.

The exclamations were enough to turn heads, and in the heat of the moment the conflicted adults appeared to have forgotten that children were present and witnessing the unfolding of this exchange of verbal lashings. Ada quickly transformed into a doctor and seized control of the situation as if it were nothing more than group therapy. Except there was no resuming the meeting where they left off this time. This particular event had come to its close.

"We're done," she said, her voice steady and full of authority. Tommy recognized the tone, as he broke a burning stare with Brendan to glance over at her. "We're going home, Tommy. Walk." She stepped over and pushed against his shoulder, encouraging him to move, but he shrugged her off. "Say goodbye to your brother, and walk," she snapped, pushing against him again. Tommy continued his contest of nerve with Brendan for another pregnant pause, then side-stepped, and began the trek back up into the house.

It was when he was well on his way, head high and with no intention of turning back, that Ada redirected her attention to Brendan and Tess. She knew she had to say something; utter a string of parting words on Tommy's behalf. And she had to think fast. She couldn't apologize. She wasn't sorry and neither was Tommy. Couldn't say it'd been a pleasure, because that would only be mocking them. Couldn't say that it wouldn't happen again, because that was a promise certain to break.

"Don't condemn him." At these words, Ada nodded in departure, and hurried after the fuming fighter.


	5. American Aphrodisiacs

**Coming Home**

_-American Aphrodisiacs-_

"And then he told me I was _fat. _I can't help that I put weight on after the kids! And I've just been really depressed lately. I don't want to get out of bed. The kids are crying in the other room, and I just ignore it! I'm such a terrible mother. I can't impress my husband; I sure as hell can't impress my boss. I feel like I'm failing everyone!"

Ada glanced up at the hysterical blonde sitting across from her. "Sounds to me like the source of your problem is self-esteem." She strung clinical definitions together until there was no more bullshit to spew, then ended with, "Here's what I'm going to do for you, Christie. I'm going to write you a prescription for Lexapro. It's a common antidepressant for treating depression and anxiety. Take it once a day every day at the same time, and let's see how you feel in a couple weeks, okay?"

The client nodded, hastily wiping tears from her eyes, and Ada immediately scribbled a quick order onto a prescription pad. "I'm going to fax this over to your pharmacy, and it'll be ready for you to pick up in a couple hours. I'll see you in two weeks, Christie. Be sure to schedule an appointment at the front desk."

She kept a smile plastered on her face as she saw the woman to the door. That smile dropped like a weight held by a weak man once she was out of sight, and Ada welcomed the solitude in her office once more. She walked back to her chair, and collapsed into it with a sigh, glancing at her cell phone.

It rang during her session with Christie, a sudden, silent flash of light as the mobile woke from its slumber, warning her of an incoming call. She'd only slid her eyes down to the screen for a millisecond while listening to the distressed woman, but it had been long enough to register the displayed number.

It'd been six weeks since she'd seen that number. That barbeque had been a cross of boundaries for Tommy. It was one thing to speak of the conflicts that kept the Conlon family at odds, but to have them witnessed first-hand was an exposure the fighter did not take lightly. Whether he was ashamed, angry, apathetic, or possibly a combination of the three, it kept him away from her.

She'd tried for the first week to reach him, when she regained the courage to do so. During the five-hour return to Pittsburgh, she made only one attempt to discuss the events of the afternoon, but he'd fired back a retort that scared her silent, and that was the last of it. Her calls went unanswered seven days straight. She didn't think it was appropriate to seek him out, as he technically was a "free man", as he liked to refer to it.

She took her hint in the end, and let him be.

Six weeks, and not a word. It hurt a little, she could admit that. She had not realized that her affections for Tommy had matured out of a strictly professional patient-doctor relationship until she accepted that his absence was mildly painful. That she missed him. She never missed a client after she was through with them, even the ones she'd taken a liking to. It was easy for her to understand that their time was up and that she had to move on to a new round of troubled folk.

But Tommy was different. He was a remarkable challenge, and not an unfamiliar one. His past demons followed him wherever he went, and he took care not to forget about them either. They kept his eyes closed to a world in which he could live without them; a world where he could move forward in peace, and live in happiness. She knew that every time he caught a glimpse of a better life, those demons would hiss in his ear, reminding him of his failures, his guilt, and of those who had betrayed him. And she knew it would take a hell of a lot more than eight weeks of therapy to liberate him from a past like his. His pain was all he knew.

But she had gone through the cave of lost souls and come out the other side alive. And she'd been able to because she knew that if she didn't, she would have died there in the darkness, alone and in vain. She was stronger than that. In some sense of the word, she was a fighter too. And a survivor. She and Tommy came from unparalleled backgrounds, but pain is universal, and theirs was bred from the same stock.

Ada knew that she could help Tommy. She knew, because first and foremost he was a survivor, too. It's what kept him resisting his father's authority. It's what made him join the marines after his mother's death, instead of becoming a deadbeat kid trying to fend for himself on the streets. It's what kept him alive in Iraq, and it's what brought him home. She recognized this in him, and it appealed to her.

She didn't know when in those eight weeks her intentions for Tommy had altered, whether it was gradual, or immediate. She'd had six weeks to analyze her own strange thoughts and feelings towards him, and what she had been subconsciously planning to do about it. The soldier suffered so greatly because his guilty conscious convinced him that he deserved misery. But he didn't. He was just a good man with a bad beginning. Healing was not an impossibility, but a matter of discovering how to. She had wanted to show him how to.

When she'd lost Tommy to his rage, it felt like losing a companion. Like she was giving up on a wayward ally, or a friend who desperately needed what she couldn't give. He understood that remaining in contact with her meant devoting himself to his healing. They'd discussed such an option before. That fact that he didn't was a statement of his commitment, and Ada wasn't willing to work with him outside of her office if he did not truly want her there. Thus, she hardened up, wished the best for him, cut her losses, and moved on from the former client.

Now he was back, and there was a voicemail icon letting her know that he had something to say.

Ada was not quick to listen to the message. The jilted woman in her wanted to ignore him out of spite, and had her sifting through papers on her desk, typing emails, asking herself what she'd have for dinner, anything to distract herself. But the doctor in her drew her attention back to the waiting message, reminding that Tommy had been a patient, and that it could be an emergency. Eventually with a huff, she tapped the screen that sent to her voicemail, and lifted the mobile to her ear.

"_Hey Ada, I know it's been awhile. How you doing? Listen, give me a call, all right? Okay. Bye."_

Before she even knew what she was doing, Ada had dialed in his number, and returned the phone to her ear, taking slow breaths in attempt to calm her fluttering heartbeat. After the second ring, she rolled her eyes at her own ridiculousness, and silently commanded herself to pull her nerves together. He was a client, for christ's sake.

There was a pause after the third ring, and then his voice sounded on the other end with a soft, _"Ada?"_

She froze, half of her surprised that he picked up, and the other half at a loss of what to do now that he did. "Hi Tommy, it's Dr. DuPrae returning your call," she said in a trained doctor voice, light and friendly, with the perfect touch of strain to make it seem like she went through great lengths to deliver this phone call. "What can I do for you?"

"_I – how are you?"_

"Fantastic, Tommy. How's physical therapy coming along?"

"_I'm done. Finished a few weeks ago."_

"That's great! Now what did you need?"

His response did not come immediately. _"I know it's been a while, but I was wondering if I could see you."_

"Of course!" she said. "Just call into the office and the ladies will set you up with an appointment at your convenience-"

"_No,_" he interrupted. _"No, not like that. Like grab dinner, or something."_

"When?"

"_I don't know…"_ he trailed off, his pause revealing that he hadn't thought that far ahead. It made her smile. _"Tonight, maybe? You free?"_

"I have my last appointment at six, so after, yes."

"_Where you want to go?"_

She gave a small laugh, enjoying the calm familiarity that washed over her as they eased into a casual conversation, and said, "Well usually, that's for you to decide, but I'll make it easy for you. There's a pub by my place-"

"_Oh no,"_ he interrupted her once again. _"The pubs are gonna be packed for the Steelers game."_

"That's precisely the point," she said. "Your Steelers are playing my Jets."

"_That's not exactly what I had in mind…"_

"Don't try to ask a girl out on a Monday night, then."

"_I never met a girl who gave a shit about football."_

"Stop trying to sound indifferent, I know you're a fan. This is a big game for our teams, and I won't miss it, not even for you."

"_There she is," _he said after a moment, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

"Meet me at the office around seven, and we'll head over."

Tommy and Ada had arrived just in time to usher in the crowd, and were lucky enough to snag a remaining booth as the more eccentric Steelers fans gathered at the bar and around the tables closest to the large flat screen occupying the wall at the far end of the room. Normally, the place catered to customers of all ages, but not tonight. Tonight, I.D.s were checked and guests were wristbanned at the door. There was going to be a lot of business, a lot of noise, and a lot of drinking.

"Have you ever been here before?" Ada asked as she returned to their booth, pitcher of beer and two empty glasses in hand.

"Naw," he said, eyes wide with amusement as he took in the chaotic activity around him. "Come here a lot?"

"Often enough," she said, sliding in beside him so they could both get a view of the game. "I find the crowds highly entertaining."

"You sure it's safe to be a Jets fan in here?" Tommy asked, accepting the freshly poured beer she handed to him.

"Shh, they don't need to know that!" she laughed, and angled to get a better look at him. "So what have you been doing, Tommy? Training hard, I see." She acknowledged, for the first time that night, a nasty shiner under his left eye, which was in the ugly days-old stages of transitioning from purple to green to yellow.

"Pretty much it. Got back in the ring a couple days ago. Real minor thing, won a few hundred bucks." He took a large gulp of the amber liquid, and glanced over at her. "I was always going to call, you know. Just had to grow some balls first."

"I understand," she said, smiling softly. "I'm just glad you did."

"What, call, or grow some balls?"

"In essence, both I suppose."

By eight-thirty, the place was packed to maximum capacity with Steelers fans. The music volume competed with loud, incomprehensible shouts from the sea of black and yellow to the point where Ada and Tommy agreed it was a lost cause to try to keep talking, and just enjoyed the sights. Their table was littered with empty baskets of wings and used napkins, and Tommy was busy refilling their glasses with a second pitcher when the music suddenly cut off.

For a very brief moment, the abrupt absence of Axl Rose's shrill melody silenced the pub completely. Tommy's eyes shot up in alert, but Ada knew what this meant. "Kickoff time," she sang through a grin, and as soon as the words were from her mouth, a deafening roar blasted through the room, and the ground shook as fans stomped their feet and pounded on their tables. She joined in the noise with laughter. Tommy relaxed, unphased by the explosion of noise. He was no stranger to such enthusiasm.

"Let's make a bet," Ada said as they returned to a sitting position after the national anthem.

"Why?" Tommy asked, fiddling with the toothpick in his mouth.

"Because it will be fun!"

"What are the terms?"

"Whoever loses has to pay the tab."

He gave a loud, rough chuckle as he considered her. "If those are the terms, I'm taking advantage of that. You're setting yourself up for failure, sweetheart."

"We'll see." Her hand shot out, and he took it, giving a single, firm pump in mutual agreement. At the verification of their bet, Ada slid to a standing position.

"Where you going?" Tommy called after her.

"Running up that tab, since you'll be paying," she responded, loud enough for him to hear. He didn't catch the laugh that escaped from her lips as she turned and headed for the bar, but he could've imagined how sweet it must have sounded.

Six minutes left in the first quarter, and Ada was sure she'd pass out from yelling. The Jets running back was thirty yards away and in the clear as he closed in on the end zone. She proved to Tommy that she was safe to root for her team, as her cries of encouragement were drowned out by the angry roars of Steelers fans. New York touched ground in the end zone, and she immediately turned to grin triumphantly at her scowling fighter.

"Don't look at me, we got the rest of the game to go," he said as he brought his beer to his lips, face red from yelling as well.

"Don't talk to me in that tone, I can celebrate if I want to," she fired back. His softened eyes peaked up at her as he finished off the glass, and she knew he was smiling.

"That was a pity pass," he sighed in mock-sympathy. "We had to give you guys something for the complete ass-raping you're about to take."

Ada furrowed her eyebrows and cocked her head as though she didn't quite catch what he said. "Oh, I'm sorry, who's seven and two this season? Because it sure as hell isn't Pittsburgh. And that was crude, Tommy Conlon!"

He gave a lopsided smile, sticking a fresh toothpick in his mouth as his eyes moved from her, to the people around them, and back again. "When was your last Super Bowl?" he asked innocently, and laughed when her eyes narrowed dangerously.

By halftime, Ada had exhausted her voice. It truly was a big game for both teams, and with a score of twenty-one to twenty-one, neither were disappointing their following. She sat back in the cushioned bench, succumbing to the calming buzz that she'd been neglecting in her excitement, and leaned her head back against Tommy's outstretched arm. He crooked his elbow, bringing his hand up and over to cover her eyes in a soft, playful caress, and she brushed his hand away, elbowing him lightly as she shot him a glare. He grabbed her wrist with one hand, and her opposite shoulder with the other and in one swift motion angled her away from him, pinning her attacking arm behind her back. He chuckled as she grumbled an incoherent protest, and released his hold on her. She relaxed into her original position, leaning into his warmth as she set her sights on the zoo around them.

At that point, most in the pub were lit, and Ada could hear several groups yelling at each other from opposite sides of the room, betting large sums of money over the end score. Barmaids sported Steelers schwag and stressed smiles as they rushed food to tables and picked up empty plates, baskets, and glasses. The bartenders shouted out drink orders to the waiting masses. It was pure chaos all around them, but they were tucked inside the small haven of their booth, free to partake in the madness or ignore it as they pleased. And it was heavenly.

"Hey," Tommy said in her ear, to catch her attention. Ada rolled her head to look at him, and there was no hesitation as he made the swift decision to press his lips to hers.

It could have been the buzz; could have been the excitement of the night; could have even been the intimacy of their close proximity. But she was pretty it was just because he knew that they both wanted to. For a moment, there was no movement. Just soft flesh forming a gentle connection as they stared at each other, silently asking permission to continue. Ada pulled away for only a fraction of a second, as a shuddering tingle protesting the absence of touch brought her right back into him.

Suddenly, the outcome of the game didn't matter so much. The influence of physical desire was remarkably powerful, she thought amusedly as Tommy's tongue fought for rights to explore her mouth. She didn't have to do much self-convincing that there was nothing wrong with allowing herself to become romantically involved with her former client. Easy to justify the idea of sleeping with him. Technically, they'd known each other for quite a while. When he tore away from her lips to plant soft, eager kisses down her jaw line onto her neck, she stopped trying to think altogether.

"I'm just down the street," she said, eyes fluttering closed against his touch. She brushed her cheek against his, enjoying the scratch of his stubble against her skin. It'd been too long since she'd been with a man.

"What about our bet?" he asked teasingly, as he trailed his fingertips up her thigh, under her skirt.

"We haven't beaten you in years," she conceded, grasping his forearm. "I'll accept my loss now."

Tommy leaned back, sliding his hand out from between her legs, gray eyes sparkling mischievously as he regarded her flushed appearance. "I think we should stay," he said, unable to keep a smile from spreading across his face.

"Hmm…" Ada considered the option very briefly as she surveyed the fighter with heavy-lidded lust. "No." She slid out of the both into a standing position, tugging at his arm in a pathetic attempt to pull him with her. He slowly slipped out after her, and by the time he was standing up, she'd taken her wallet out of her purse, and was sifting through a collection of bills. She tossed enough on the table to cover the tab and a generous tip, and then grabbed his hand, pulling him along through the thicket of people with impressive pioneering skills.

All the way, Tommy could not help but laugh at how such a small thing could possess so much authority and fervency. He allowed her to decide where the evening would take them, to lead him out of the pub and into the night. Ada DuPrae, his fucking shrink. She wasn't no shrink anymore. Not tonight. She was a strange, beautiful little creature, full of life, and she wanted him. After all she knew about him, she fucking wanted him.

He'd always been curious. Why the hell wouldn't he be? She was a young doctor, his age. Smart, successful, and elegant. Her phenomenal influence over him was nothing short of sexy. He liked when she snapped at him, told him what to do. Most of the time. She wasn't scared of him. Didn't baby him. Took his shit when she had to, and threw it back at him when she didn't. Treated him like an equal. He'd missed the hell out of the little fireball.

The bitter November chill hit them like a hard slap in the face when they left the warmth of a pub, and Tommy immediately regretted not bringing a coat. Ada released a soft cry of shock against the polar change of temperature, and then turned around to make sure she hadn't lost him in the bustle of people pushing to get in and out. Her smile was breathtaking, the first one he'd seen in the light of a growing promise, and suddenly the cold didn't bother him anymore. He grabbed her by the collar of her blazer, and pulled her back into him. He would have stood out there all night if that was where she wanted to be.

He wanted her. Now he had her. And he had no fucking idea what to do, other than roll with it.

* * *

_Hello! This transitional chapter was surprisingly difficult to write, so I apologize greatly if it didn't live up to expectations. I wanted to have Ada and Tommy bond over something simple, and light. I don't imagine their reunion after six weeks to be any sort of dramatic affair. I think Tommy would want to avoid the subject of his absence altogether, and Ada would have gotten over the shock of his sudden return pretty quickly, like naturally getting back into the groove of things with an old friend. Also, football as the activity they bonded over was a spontaneous decision, but it stuck with me and wouldn't go away. So I'm sorry if you don't know much about the sport, I'd be happy to clarify any questions you have. One last thing! Thank you so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows! You have no idea how much I appreciate it, and what it means to me that you're enjoying the story. Keep up the feedback! It will inspire the direction this story leads to. Thanks again :)_


	6. Thanksgiving Classic

**Coming Home**

_-Thanksgiving With the Conlons, Part I-_

She wasn't quite sure how she felt about Brendan Conlon contacting her about Tommy. For all he knew, her association with the brother was over, and unless he planned on using her as a therapist in the near future, there was no reason for him to be in touch with her. Ada reread the message sent from his private email the previous day. She should probably bill him, since he was requesting psychological advice, she thought with strained amusement. It looked like Brendan had forgiven his brother's previous indiscretions, and wanted to find an appropriate way to approach him again, so he could invite him to a Thanksgiving dinner just days away.

She typed a quick response, a professional and polite version of "pick up the phone and call him", then folded her laptop closed with a quiet snap, spinning around in her chair. "Your brother is going to be calling you soon," she said.

Tommy lay sideways in bed, white sheets low on his hips. He held himself up in a plank position to take a drink of his coffee, and the mug was halfway to his lips when she made the unexpected announcement. "What?"

"Brendan is going to invite you to his house for Thanksgiving," she elaborated. "He sent me an email asking how to go about doing it. I told him to call you."

"That don't sound like a good time," he said with a grimace, giving his coffee another chance.

"But you know you'll have to go. You're his brother. It's Thanksgiving. You guys have had almost two months to calm down, it's time to try again."

He rolled his eyes and blinked hard with a sharp inhale, a silent version of _'I know, calm down', _and asked, "You flying out to Seattle?" Her "no" came a little too abruptly. He narrowed his eyes. "Why not?"

"Because I don't have family," she said passively, pushing herself off of the chair.

"You at least got a brother," he said, eyes following her as she returned to bed with a determined averted gaze, and made a chore of climbing under the covers. "I heard you talk about him once."

"Brother's dead," she responded, voice as composed as if she were only discussing plans for the day.

"Parents?" he asked.

She hesitated, staring down at her hands. Then her eyes slid up to his, and a smile stretched across her lips. "Let's not talk about it," she said, snatching the mug from his hand to steal a drink.

"So I tell you everything, and you don't tell me nothing, is that how this is going to work?" Tommy asked, cringing against a stab of annoyance that she just revealed a traumatic piece of her history to him, and seemed entirely undisturbed.

"In due time," she said, placing a quick kiss on his cheek as she leaned over him and set the mug down on the bedside table. Ada pulled back, and registered his irritated glare. "Don't look at me like that, Tommy," she scolded, her brow slowly beginning to furrow. "You know how long it took me to get your past out of you, and that was just a basic outline."

"That's different," he said.

"How?" she asked, and at his silence turned away from him, continuing with, "That's what I thought. Goddamn, I thought I was the impatient one."

"Now don't get a fucking attitude with me just 'cause I asked you something personal," he snapped, forcing her to look at him.

Her expression quickly transformed from shock to anger, and she wrenched her face from his grasp, pushing away from him. "Fuck you Tommy, I-!"

Tommy cut off her vulgar exclamation with his hand as he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back into him. She struggled against him, still angry, but at this point he knew it was play. He threw her onto her back, glowering on the outside but laughing on the inside. Replacing his hand with his mouth, Tommy hovered over her as he caught both of her wrists and locked them together over her head with bruising force. Her legs, still free, wrapped around him and flexed tight, closing all distance between them. Ada bit down hard on his bottom lip as she bucked her hips hard, and he groaned, wasting no more time in giving her exactly what she was asking for.

He could snap her like a fucking twig. It was hard not to, since she liked it a little rougher. He was still exploring the boundaries of "too rough" for her, and he hadn't found any yet. It excited him, and scared him a little. Never had a woman like this. Only his fireball could turn fighting into a form of foreplay. This thingthey had, it was only a few days old, but they took advantage of those days, meeting up and going out after work. Killing time talking and bickering like the good ole days as Tommy and Dr. Ada, but fucking until the sheets set fire. Or the couch. Or the kitchen counter. Or the restroom stall of their choice restaurant. Get each other riled up, and they weren't all that picky.

Ada once told him that it was a good thing to find an activity where he could take all his pent-up emotion and convert it into something positive, something productive. He was pretty sure he'd found it. Fighting was good and all, but fighting was for money. He didn't know shit about sweet release until he'd been inside Ada DuPrae.

Tommy opted out of a workout until later to waste the day away with the lady. It was the first Saturday in a long time that he hadn't gotten up at the ass crack of dawn to go for a run. Felt kind of nice. They had half a plan formed, and it involved breakfast and getting dressed. They made it out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, and he'd been in the process of showing Ada how to mix ingredients for omelets when his cell phone rang.

She knew it was Brendan. She knew it was him the moment Tommy excused himself from the kitchen to the living room and planted himself down onto the couch. Ada watched him as she threw strips of bacon onto a heated pan, the loud sizzle preventing her from hearing any part of the conversation. He spoke lowly, and his responses were short, but the call dragged on longer than just a simple invitation. For a moment, his face contorted and reddened with anger, but it soon faded. Shortly after, the conversation ended, and he tossed the cell phone onto the coffee table. He rubbed his face, blinked hard a couple times, and then stood, reentering the kitchen with a new air of impassivity.

Ada shifted her focus to the cooking bacon, turning the strips over with a pair of tongs. "Brendan?" she asked as he returned to the neglected bowl of beaten eggs and chopped vegetables.

"Yep," he said simply, giving the mixture a quick stir before pouring half of it into the waiting pan beside hers. "Dude's grown some major stones since Sparta…he invited the old man, too."

"How do you feel about that?" she asked cautiously, then winced as she realized she used her least-favorite professional phrase.

Tommy shrugged as he adjusted the heat on his side of the stove. "Can't do nothing about it, he's Brendan's guest. It's gonna be fucking sad. Pop's so pathetic nowadays. No shame, and too much of it. Walking around crying all the time, begging for forgiveness. It's not so easy, you know?"

"Did he say anything about if Tess has calmed down at all?" The wife was the person Ada worried about most. Tommy had conditioned himself to level of comfort in his father's presence enough to make him his tournament trainer. Having to sit down for a family dinner would be remarkably uncomfortable, but the direction of the dinner would really be defined by how well Tess and Tommy could suppress their mutual despise.

"She hates me, I hate her, no amount of time will change that," he said with a bitter laugh as he picked up a spatula. "But Brendan was all for it when I asked if you could come. Tess likes you, so that'll probably help." He leaned over and planted a kiss on the top of her head. "You'll come, won't you?"

The idea of another disaster like the October barbeque wasn't exactly appealing. Throwing the father into the mix was just short of unsettling. She liked to think that she could resume the act of the detached doctor, educated on the Conlon's history but uninfluenced by its darker truths. She wasn't sure she could do that anymore. To stand in front of the man who had been the source of so much pain and trauma for Tommy in his most vital years of mental and emotional development would be difficult. She couldn't imagine herself addressing him as though he were no more than a stranger.

But Tommy needed her there. Needed that comfort of familiarity and wholeness. Their relationship, beginning as patient and therapist, was the only one he'd ever had that hadn't been strained and broken by duplicity, deceit, or death. He needed a port in the storm. "Of course," she finally responded, and offered him a small smile.

He nodded, and focused his attention on his omelet. "It's gonna be weird. Haven't had a normal Thanksgiving in years. What the fuck do people do at those things anymore?"

"Eat," Ada said with a laugh. "Eat a lot."

"That's easy enough. We gotta bring anything?"

"Of course! And traditionally, we'll also have to show up early so I can help Tess cook, and you'll watch the games with Brendan. What time did he say to be there?"

"Around two."

"Oh yeah, that's what they want us to do." Ada looked up at him, and at his confused expression, elaborated, "Well two is pretty early, isn't it? Inviting us around two means the turkey will already be in the oven and Tess could use the extra hands on the smaller stuff while she keeps the kids occupied. Two also means that the Lions game will more than likely be over, and things can start getting interesting with the Cowboys. He's sparing us from having to sit through the traditional ugly defeat. They're playing the Patriots this year; it's not even worth the curiosity."

"How do you know all this shit?" he asked, not bothering to mask his blatant awe and confusion.

"Because Tommy, I'm a woman."

Spending the night at Tommy's apartment had been a terrible idea. Their reasoning behind it had been his close proximity to the freeway. They could get up, get ready, and be on the road before major holiday traffic hit. Though adorably cozy and kept so clean Ada could have been suspicious of a mild case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, the problem with Tommy's apartment was its absence of an alarm clock. The fighter relied on his internal body clock to rouse him bright and early at the same time every morning. However, his body seemed to subconsciously register that he was on holiday, because it entered a state of hibernation and hadn't planned on waking up any time soon.

Ada had woken with a panic as soon as she realized in her dream state that sunlight was disturbing her quest for the comfort of total darkness. She jumped out of bed, dared to look at the time on her cell phone, then climbed on top of her unreliable wakeup call, shaking him with violent force until he entered a state of consciousness.

In a series of inconveniently-timed events, from Tommy stubbornly refusing to put on a nice sweater and a pressed pair of pants, to a torrent of wind and rain that brought out the paranoia in those on the road, slowing the flow of traffic down by at least ten miles per hour below the set limit, by the time they arrived in Philadelphia an hour late, Ada was prepared to begin kicking asses and taking names. As Tommy rolled to a stop in front of the Conlon house, incomparably more at ease than the last time he'd been there, she reached over and fixed the collar of the black cotton button-down he agreed to wear in compromise, with unnecessary force.

"Ready?" she asked. He grunted his answer as he stared at the steering wheel, and gave a small nod of his head. Ada leaned down to grab her purse off the floor, and said, "Pop the trunk, and I'll grab the cooler real quick."

"What cooler?" he asked, and she froze in her pursuit to open the car door.

"That's a joke, right?" His features were as solid as stone, gray eyes giving nothing away. "The cooler, with the Jell-O salad in it? The one I set right by the front door this morning, and asked you to take down to the car."

"I didn't hear nothing."

"Really, because I distinctly remember you standing right next to me when I asked you. Want to know what you said? _'Got it, babe'_. Remember that?"

"No."

In retrospect, it wasn't a big deal. But Thanksgiving was off to a customary rough start, and she would have liked something as simple as remembering the Jell-O salad to give her the hope she needed that the day could potentially turn itself around. Tommy was frozen in position with one arm on the steering wheel, hunched and half-turned toward her, cautiously awaiting her reaction, eyes as wide as prey under the watch of its predator.

Ada threw her hands up and released an exasperated sigh. "You know what? It doesn't matter. Forget it. Just forget it." She rolled her eyes, and attempted to reason with herself that shame of showing up without a contribution to the dinner wasn't the worst thing they'd have to endure. That her own private pet peeve wasn't everyone else's. At that, she turned to leave the car.

And then he snorted.

"You asshole!" Ada immediately rounded on him, arms wailing. Tommy broke into a fit of laughter, shielding his head with his arms as her fists made contact with muscle.

"You gotta calm down, babe," he said, catching her fists in his hands and shifting out of his defensive position. "You're stressing out more than I am."

"I'm on edge, all right?" she admitted tensely, pulling her hands from his grasp. "I have _never_ had a Thanksgiving go smoothly," she said, emphasizing the "never" with a terse, pointed gesture of her hand.

"If you're looking for one of those, you came to the wrong family," he said, leaning back to regard her.

"I know, I know." Ada took a deep breath. "This is me, preparing to do serious damage control tonight. If things get ugly, I _will _turn into the doctor. And we won't be leaving early this time, either. I'll make you all sit down and talk it out."

"Talk? Uh-uh, I don't think you get it, sweetheart. Get three angry Conlon men in a room, there ain't gonna be any talking."

She believed him. As Ada exited the car, running from the rain to stand and wait for Tommy under the cover of the front walkway, she couldn't ignore the sinking feeling beginning to weigh heavier on her. Perhaps Tess had been the least of her worries. Brendan and the father were trying very hard to reconcile with Tommy. To earn his trust and his forgiveness, both of which he was nowhere near ready to give them. Though he appeared remarkably cool and collected, should they gang up on him tonight, his reaction to their pressing would be quite unpredictable.

Tommy joined her, hair dripping wet, cradling the plastic red cube in his arms. She didn't even have to knock before the front door opened. Brendan greeted them immediately with an animated grin, Rosie, all wild blonde curls and curious smiles, at his feet. He guided the little one out of the way and ushered them inside and out of the cold, saying, "We were wondering who that was out there! You get a new car?"

Ada laughed, glancing out the open door to the sleek black Mercedes-Benz resting against the curb. Yes, Tommy had finally fulfilled his promise last Saturday, to get her out of "the vagina" and into a car worthy of a doctor. It didn't take much convincing after an excitingly arousing test drive in that sensual and classy beast of a vehicle. "I did, but it may as well be Tommy's," she joked, shaking Brendan's hand. "I've recently discovered the very special bond between a man and his car."

"Unlike any other," Brendan agreed, craning his head to look out at the car. "Is that the E550? Nice…we're taking that out for a spin later."

Ada said nothing, but as she watched Brendan greet his brother, taking the cooler from him and inviting them to follow him into the living room, she found it so difficult to believe that the man was actually a millionaire. He remained in his decent-sized suburban home, choosing to make renovations to it rather than sell it for something more grandiose. He still worked as a physics teacher at a local high school, and was impressed by a common Mercedes when he shouldn't have blinked twice for anything less than a Maybach. She'd never known of anyone to remain grounded and humble after earning copious amounts of money. It was so easy to buy into extravagance, and lose oneself in decadence.

They heard the static sound of cheering and the hollow voices of focused commentators before they even saw a television, and Ada shot Tommy a knowing look, an eyebrow raised in a _'told you' _manner when they rounded the corner to find the Cowboys in the second quarter against the Saints. He grunted, sliding a hand down her back to tuck inside the brim of her jeans. She slapped his hand away as they entered the open layout of the kitchen and living room, and immediately excused herself from his side to offer her assistance to Tess.

Brendan presented a beer as he walked by, and Tommy took it wordlessly. "Drink up now," he said with a groan as he fell back into the couch adjacent to the one occupied by his brother. "We're putting it all away when Pop gets here." Tommy nodded, keeping his eyes on the television as he twisted the cap off. "You're getting big, Tommy," Brendan pointed out in another attempt at conversation. "Are you trying to fight again?"

"Yeah," was his response.

"Sparta?" he asked, and Tommy nodded. He gave a low whistle, "It's going to be rough this year. They're starting preliminary rounds in April, aren't they?"

"Somewhere around there."

"Is Pop going to be training you?"

"Haven't asked," he said.

"Have you talked to him at all since Atlantic City?" Tommy shook his head. Brendan sat up a little, leaning further towards him. "If you wanted, I could get in touch with Frank. I bet he'd love to take you in and get you ready."

"I'm good, Brendan. Thanks." Tommy's eyes shifted to the retired fighter very briefly, then snapped their attention back to the game just in time to see an embarrassing fumble from the Saints.

"Come on!" Ada exclaimed from the kitchen, and the two brothers peeked over to find her standing at the counter with an expression of frustrated disbelief as she gawked at the screen. Realizing very quickly that her outburst had garnered an audience, she smiled innocently and averted her gaze back to the task of mixing pie filling.

Brendan chuckled as he and Tommy relaxed back into their original positions. "Saints fan?" he asked.

"Naw, that's nothing. Wait until the Jets game next," Tommy responded, snorting airily at the thought.

"So you two are seeing each other now," he acknowledged, turning their attempted conversation into familiar territory. His little brother was preparing to embark on a life-changing journey with a lover and a friend. He didn't know much about the dynamics of his relationship with the doctor, but if he knew anything about his brother, he knew that when he committed to something he truly cared about, he didn't give up on it. He imagined Ada DuPrae would be sticking around for quite some time. And if there was any area of expertise or advice he was qualified to relay to Tommy, it was how to make an intimate relationship as fulfilling and everlasting as possible. "How did that happen?"

Tommy shrugged, "Just happened." He hesitated, debating on whether to expand on that. In the end, he must've decided it wouldn't hurt. "One minute we were at the pub watching the Steelers game, and the next…"

He trailed off, and Brendan gave a knowing laugh. "Yeah? Yeah…" he reached over and nudged his arm. "Good for you, man." Tommy brought the glass bottle up to his lips for a quick swig to hide his smile, but the brother had already caught it. "She's a good catch."

"I don't know what she sees, but I'm glad she does," he admitted, glancing over the back of the couch. "It feels right, man."

Brendan smiled to himself, saying nothing right away. He recognized that softness that naturally tainted his voice when he talked about her. He recognized that expression in his eyes, the warmness, and the eagerness to catch a glimpse of her simply as a happy reminder that she was there. He turned to focus his attention on Tess, her beautiful face flushed in the heat of the kitchen, hair just a little frizzed from the steam drifting from the pots on the stove. Their two gorgeous little girls sat in chairs at the breakfast bar, intently focused on creating colorful interpretations of the outlines presented in their coloring books. Yeah, he knew exactly what Tommy was feeling.

* * *

_Fun fact: The Thanksgiving Classic is a trio of football games played every Thanksgiving. The Detroit Lions are always involved in the first game, then the Cowboys in the second. The third game is at random. I chose the 2010 classic for this story, in which the Lions played the Patriots, the Cowboys played the saints, and the Jets played the Bengals. Why? Because that is a damn good lineup. :) _

_Okay then...Oh lordy! This girl right here saw Tom Hardy's new one, _Lawless,_ last night. If you haven't seen and/or heard of it yet, I highly recommend it! Absolutely fantastic, and it brought forth some inspiration for this story as well. We'll see how it gets incorporated. So, I love you guys. All of you. Thank you so much for all of the reviews. It's so good to know you're enjoying the story. I absolutely love your interpretations of the situations in the chapters, and hearing what you hope for in future chapters. I'll be fawning over you all at the end of every chapter now, in extreme gratification for your support, so get used to it! :)_


	7. Unexpected Flashbacks

**Coming Home**

_-Thanksgiving With the Conlons, Part II-_

It started with a thought.

A single contemplation as simple as _'Micah was a fiend for mashed potatoes' _skidding across her mind as she covered the large bowl with plastic wrap. She'd smiled to herself, always fond of her late baby brother's memory. He'd always been an active child before he was sick, and because of this, he had the ability to really put his food away. Christmas and his birthday? Sure, they were dandy. But there'd always been a special place in Micah's heart (and stomach) for Thanksgiving. Ada acknowledged the escaped memory, and then returned it to the archives deep in the back of her mind.

But then he came back, and he brought Mom and Dad with him.

They had the tendency to surprise her when she least expected them, these inundations of her past flowing into her conscious, completely disarming and debilitating her until she could gather the strength to round them all up and force them back to where they came from. What did she expect, when her method of moving on meant sweeping everything under the rug? But she'd decided it was for the best. She could work through these moments of grief; she was trained to know how to deal with it. Eventually, they would come, and she would feel nothing from them. However long it took, it was how it had to be. She could acknowledge her past, and where she came from. But she could not accept it. Accepting would mean admitting that even though she ran, she wasn't yet free.

They were cruel, these shutter images of her life in Seattle. Of a privileged childhood within a happy family, to remind her exactly what she had lost. Of hospital rooms and horrific crime scenes, to remind her exactly why she had lost it. Ada clutched a wine glass tightly, bringing the crystal up for a sip with shaking hands as she stood staring through the glass of the back patio door. The sun had set prematurely, diminished by the arrival of heavy and menacing rainclouds. It didn't take long for their pregnant bellies to burst, sending earthbound a rainfall of epic proportions. It was difficult to see in the darkness, but she could hear the massive drops pounding against every external surface with impressive power.

The doorbell rang somewhere in the distance, and the waiting household roused into action. The stream of rain continued its steady pattern, keeping her lulled and dazed in introspection. Pressure at the small of her back drew her attention away from the darkness outside, and she was momentarily stunned by the sudden presence of her fighter beside her.

"Pop's here," he said lowly, removing the wine glass from her grasp. He finished off its contents in a single mouthful, watching her. She was wide-eyed, lips parted ever so slightly as she looked at him. She was looking, but she wasn't seeing. He stooped to her height to examine her closely, a small smile playing at his lips. "Little too much to drink, babe?"

It took her a moment, but she snapped into focus, brow furrowing slightly. "What? No," she said, and took to the task of smoothing the creases in his shirt. "Your father's here," she repeated.

"Yeah," he said.

"Shouldn't you be out greeting him?"

"Naw."

She stole a kiss from him, one that he was happy to give, and give him a quick and encouraging slap on the behind. Ada took the glass from him, and seized the opportunity to loop through the kitchen to place it in the sink, while simultaneously allowing a moment to silently pull herself together by use of her favorite mantra: _'Harden the fuck up.'_

When she returned to Tommy's side, his body had tensed and his face had hardened. She followed his gaze down the walkway through the dining room to the foyer, where an unfamiliar voice echoed back to them, uniquely rough and amplified. "Hey," she said, pulling at the front of his shirt to grab his attention. With some hesitation, his eyes flickered down to her. "It's just dinner, all right?" she reminded him. "We've been here all afternoon, and we've been fine. We'll eat, and then we'll go. Okay?" He glanced up, but she shifted into his line of sight, catching his gaze once more. "Okay?"

Tommy pulled his bottom lip through his teeth in thought, and then nodded silently.

Tess ushered the girls back into the living room, and they took to the couches, shrill voices communicating an adolescent conversation of dire importance. Their mother returned to busying herself behind the kitchen counters, gathering bowls, plates, and platters ready to be set at the table. Soon, Brendan came into view, and so did the father.

He looked nothing like the pathetic old man she imagined. In fact, he looked like someone she'd see around the house a lot growing up; the type of man her father did business with. Dressed for church in a gray suit jacket in khaki slacks, with a white dress shirt underneath. His wispy hair the color of a shaded snow bank was flattened by the wool beret he held in his hands. The man had a face the texture of weathered stone, and careful eyes that claimed tenderness, but promised the existence of a hidden well of power. His sons had inherited those eyes.

He glanced around the room, mouth open in awe at the great job his eldest son had done. When his gaze landed on Tommy, elation joined in with that awe. "Tommy," he said, voice light and cracking as though instead of smooth vibration, his vocal cords flopped together lazily inside his throat. "How you been, son?"

"I'm good," Tommy responded, bringing his shoulders up high in a tense shrug.

Brendan, realizing his brother was going to make no effort in formal introductions, took the initiative and stepped forward. "Pop, I don't think you've met Tommy's girlfriend," he said, guiding the old man closer to Ada and Tommy.

"Patrick, but I go by Paddy," the father offered his hand with a small smile and a nod. "Good to meet you."

"Ada DuPrae, you as well," she responded, grasping his hand and returning the smile.

"Ada's a doctor, Pop," Brendan announced, in a quick attempt to break ice and establish identities. "She was treating Tommy for awhile after he was released."

"For your shoulder?" Paddy asked, looking at his younger son. Tommy stared back, but said nothing.

"No sir, I'm a psychiatrist," Ada said, working hard to keep her features soft against the awkwardness of relaying the notion that his son had required psychiatric help.

Paddy gave a quiet grumble of comprehension, averting his gaze. He understood very quickly that because Ada had treated Tommy for his traumas, she probably knew a lot more about him than she would ever let on. And he was right.

By the time everyone was sat at the dinner table, the Conlons were working hard to keep conversation flowing. Ada had to applaud Brendan's efforts to keep the atmosphere as calm and comfortable as possible, despite his own fears and hesitations. Grace was led by Paddy, in which Ada and Tommy watched each other instead of bowing their heads and partaking in the prayer. Food began to be passed around the table, and for a while, no one had to talk.

"You eat a lot." Emily was the first to break the silence, looking up at her Uncle Tommy in wonder as she sat beside him.

Tommy's eyes slid down to the little girl as he chewed a mouthful, confused as to why she was even talking, let alone talking to him. "It's good food," he said after swallowing, then stabbed an oversized piece of turkey with his fork, stuffing it into his mouth just to earn an expression of disgust from the six year-old.

"So Ada," Brendan sat back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest. "I hear you're a Jets fan."

She nodded, setting down her fork and knife. "Six solid years now."

"How do you get into that sport?" Tess asked. "I can't for the life of me."

"At first it was the uniforms for me," she said with a laugh. "But it grows on you."

"Why the Jets though?" Brendan asked with a familiar grimace.

"Oh I'm sorry, still bitter about that upset a couple weeks ago, Steelers boy?" Ada shot playfully across the table, and then turned to Tommy. "Which reminds me, you still owe me fifty-three dollars." He grunted in response, keeping his attention focused on his plate. "No, one year each member of my family picked teams, so we could bet against each other. My little brother was an avid Patriots fan, so I chose their rival. Turned into a tradition, and I've been a fan ever since."

"So you don't mind contact sports?" Brendan asked, and she shook her head. "You don't mind what Tommy does for a living?"

It was an impressively maneuvered lead-in, for a subject they had not yet touched on. Not even Ada and Tommy talked about it often. It was just something they'd accepted without much thought, and they moved on from it. Tommy was a fighter, in every sense of the word. She didn't have a problem with it as his therapist, and she didn't have a problem with it now. "Not at all," she said after a pause for thought. "I think it's a fantastic activity for him to engage in. If he gets hurt? Well, thank god I'm a licensed medical doctor."

"Is that how that works?" Tess interjected, skillfully altering the conversation now that Brendan had gotten his answer. "You can treat anyone for anything?"

"Essentially," she said. "I specialize in mental disorders, but they teach us everything in medical school, and we experience just about everything during our residencies. I'm a general practitioner as much as I am a psychiatrist."

"That's…useful," Tess said with a small laugh.

"Tommy, I didn't know you were fighting again." The gravelly voice attracted everyone's attention. "I take it your shoulder's all healed up, then."

Tommy stared at his father as if the last thing he wanted was to hear him speak. "Just about," he said stiffly.

"Gotta be real careful, Tommy, it's a lot easier to pop the second time around."

"Got it-"

"I'm just saying, if you strain it too hard too fast-"

"Yeah, okay-"

"-it ain't gonna heal the way you want it to."

"Drop it, Pop."

Gray eyes were wide with silent warning. Ada glanced from Paddy to Tommy, then brought her hand up to Tommy's forearm, a physical reminder that this was not the time nor place to go at it with his father. He broke his hard gaze with the man, skimming the faces around the table quickly before returning his focus to his plate.

The two young girls were blissfully ignorant of any sort of conflict, and continued to pick through the food their parents had rationed out for them. Ada found herself watching the little one, Rosie, sitting almost directly across from her, envious of her tranquility in innocence.

"Ada, you're the doctor, what do you think?" Paddy made the foolish mistake of giving in to his urge of determination to prove a point. She did not respond at first, debating with herself whether her opinion would put an end to the subject, or put fuel on the fire.

"Pop, Tommy doesn't want to talk about it," Brendan said quietly, not bothering to mask his irritation as he attempted to silence the man beside him.

"Well I'm not asking Tommy, am I? I'm asking the doctor," Paddy said lightly, motioning to her.

"Tommy's a strong man, Mr. Conlon," Ada said with a professional smile. If he wanted her to play doctor, she'd play doctor. "He's been in the process of healing since July. I followed his physical therapy regimen closely, and I can tell you, as a professional opinion, that Tommy is not engaging in any activity that his body or his physical therapist wouldn't approve of. The pace that he is advancing at is appropriately sufficient; there's absolutely no need for concern."

"No concern, huh?" Paddy gave a low, pensive grumble. "You ever seen a fight, doctor?"

Plenty…but never in a cage. Never as sport. The question caught her off guard, and threw her back into the past. Dad coming home with blood on his clothes and skin. Sometimes his blood, but the blood of others more often than not. God help the poor bastards who ever tried to confront him in his own home. Dad didn't mind whenever he caught her and Micah watching. He liked them to know just how safe, how untouchable they were. That he would never, never let them come in harm's way. Invincible was a word she learned quickly and used frequently as an adolescent. It was a word she absolutely loathed as an adult.

Ada was drawn back into the present by a clash of yelling voices.

On one end of the table, Brendan was chastising his father with, "Why you got to do that, Pop? Why couldn't you just drop it?"

At the other end, she was the only thing separating Tommy and Tess as the seething mother attacked him with a, "You're so predictable, Tommy! Open your mouth, and everything falls apart."

"You shut up, Tess," he spat back, leaning forward to point a threatening finger at her. "You shut the fuck up!"

Ada found herself silenced by her confusion at what she had missed in her daze. Had Tommy said something that she didn't catch? Had there been a whole conversation that she missed?

"Hey," Brendan halted his criticism of Paddy's conversational skills to slap the table and garner his brother's attention. "Watch your mouth, my children are present."

"If she speaks directly to me again, I can't be responsible for my reaction," Tommy warned. "And if the old man opens his mouth to insult my girlfriend's intelligence again, I suggest you tell your little wife to go ahead and heard the babies out of the room."

"Is that a threat, son?" Paddy's face was beginning to redden, and Ada's heartbeat quickened. Anything could set this family off at anytime. Tess said it was predictable, sure. But exactly what would be the weight to send the whole home crumbling down to its foundation, she had no idea. Find the source, fix the problem. But with the Conlon's, it seemed as though speaking about the weather could be a cause for provocation.

"Would you like it to be?" Tommy lowered his head, daring his father to lash out.

"This is my house," Brendan announced with impressive authority. "We do not behave like this in my house. Get your shit together, the both of you."

"You're living some kind of fantasy, Brendan," Tommy shook his head. "I don't know what kind of Brady Bunch bullshit you were expecting."

"We expected you to at least act civilized," Tess shot across the table.

He rounded on her with a booming, "What did I just say to you?"

"Hey!" the eldest brother barked. "Don't talk to her like that!"

The sound and sight of Daddy angry must have been very rare indeed, because at Brendan's last exclamation, the three year-old to his right let out a long bleat that hiccupped in her throat, transforming into a succession of sobs. "Fantastic," Tess enunciated, each syllable dripping with bitter sarcasm. She stood, scooping the little one from her seat, and called for Emily. She slid from her seat, running around the table to her mother's side, and the three exited the room at a hurried pace.

"I fucking told you this would happen, Brendan," Tommy said, once the girls were out of sight. "You invited us, I told you this would happen."

Brendan sighed, his features relaxing into a deep solemnity. "It didn't have to," he said, and Ada couldn't help but notice the defeat in his voice.

"Yes it did," she said suddenly, and the quickness at which three pairs of eyes fell on her told her that they hadn't expected her to speak. Outbursts weren't exactly appropriate or ideal, but they were necessary. Expecting everything to be okay, and for something as simple as a family dinner to go smoothly because they wanted to, was asking too much of each other. It was admirable that they were trying, but they had to allow themselves room for error, and to prepare appropriate reactions to it. Tommy, Brendan, Paddy…they didn't know each other anymore. Each man was significantly different from the one they remembered. And their perceptions of these older versions of themselves were preventing them from getting to know the men they were now. Trust and forgiveness, and even comfort in each other's presence were concepts that could not be mastered over a family dinner, but over an unspecified period of time in which each of them put equal amounts of effort into it. In order to do that, they had to grasp that change and growth was possible, and that the men they remembered had changed.

Silence fell over the table after she'd finished relaying such a message, and she took a deep breath, searching each of their faces. Their gazes were averted, and their heads bowed as though she'd just given them a reprimanding. Ada wanted to laugh, but she knew adding any humor to the atmosphere would erase the weight of her words, and she wanted them to sink in. Anyone could have offered the counseling she'd just given them, but because it was coming from a professional, they were taking it to heart. At least Brendan and Paddy were. The fluff was nothing new to Tommy, but it was true all the same. The Conlons were retro-frozen, and it was destroying them.

"I'm not going to ask you guys to continue this if you don't think you can handle it," Ada offered after the silence had stretched long enough. It was time to lighten the mood. "This has been the first time the three of you have been in such close proximity in months. Over a decade, if you can't count the tournament. This was a big step for you. Probably a little too big. But if you do want to try to revive the evening, I suggest that we move to the living room, relax, finish watching my Jets annihilate the Bengals. I'll cut up some pie, and by the end of tonight that fight will be nothing worse than what I guarantee your neighbors are doing to each other right now. It isn't a family holiday without something going terribly wrong."

Paddy laughed, a long and airy wheeze, and said, "Ain't that the truth!"

Ada smiled in response, and Brendan was deliberating whether or not to join in. They were almost in the clear. The prospect was looking hopeful. Tommy scoffed, and said, "Yeah, Pop. It was always so inconvenient having to beat Mom when dinner wasn't done on your time."

"Really, Tommy," Brendan threw his hands up, shaking his head at the antagonist across from him.

"It's okay," Paddy said, and Ada saw that he was working hard to keep the comment from touching him. "It's okay."

"No it's not. This is bullshit. Look at this," Tommy motioned around the table, his face contorted with disgust. "We'll never be some happy fucking family. That's fucked; that's gone. It ain't coming back." He stood suddenly, chair rubbing against the hardwood floor loudly, and headed for the foyer without another word.

Ada brought her hand up to her mouth, finding herself in the awkward position of delivering the parting words once again. She sat, staring between Brendan and Paddy. The father kept his eyes on her, while the son had his elbows propped up on the table, flanking a forgotten plate of food, his forehead resting against the palms of his hands. The front door slammed a moment later, and she winced.

Tommy had a deep-seated rage, far beyond the other Conlons. This because Paddy had the program and God as his outlet, and Brendan had his family. The ex-marine had nothing over the years to absorb his rage, and no one to funnel it out of him. She deeply underestimated how easy it was to channel that fury.

"I'm sorry," Ada sighed, not quite sure she meant it, but feeling obligated to say it. After another moment, she excused herself, for the second time, to follow after Tommy Conlon.

* * *

_Fun fact: If you were ever wondering why, in the movie, it said that Brendan and his father hadn't been in contact for three years, which was why Paddy never met Rosie, I may have an answer for you! In an interview with Nick Nolte, he said the back story went a little like this: It was Christmas, and Paddy was belligerently drunk. He was headed over to the kids' place, crashed the car right through the living room, narrowly missed them, and that is why Brendan refused any form of physical contact with his father. Crazy, huh? I can't even imagine. _

_Okay! I've recognized in the movie that Tommy is always the one to let slip little comments that could easily spark a conflict, especially with his father. Everything from "It's hard to find a girl who can take a punch nowadays" to "I liked you better when you were a drunk; at least you had some balls back then." I understand that he shared that extremely moving moment with his father when he relapsed, but I think he would have definitely built his walls back up since then, especially in the wake of his loss at Sparta, and his military arrest. _

_Also, special recognition goes to those who can guess what Ada's dad did for a living! You've got a chapter to figure it out. ;) Again, thank you so, so much for the wonderful reviews! Seriously, I love the little predictions of what's to come, and your excitement excites me :) I deeply, deeply appreciate your support. _


	8. Backstage Rendezvous

_**Com**_**ing Home**

_-Tommy Riordan vs. One Giant Fucking Italian-_

When Tommy fought, he wasn't interested in the name of the person he was fighting. He wasn't interested in seeing what the person looked like beforehand. He didn't waste time strategizing with a trainer, or studying the technique of the opposition. He showed up, fought, took his money, and left.

It was as simple as that. So when Tommy invited Ada to his first televised fight, she tried to adopt the same strategy. As in remain completely in the dark about everything other than the fact that win or lose, he'd be taking money home. Adopt the mindset that his opposition was not a person, but an obstacle standing in his way. It was still months away before he had to engage in fights that really mattered. This one could be considered nothing more than a warm-up.

Tommy wasn't supposed to be fighting. Not originally, at least. It was the last big fight before the New Year, just a couple weeks before Christmas. The arena in Baltimore was sold out, and they were predicting record-setting viewer ratings on Pay-Per-View. However, there was a widespread panic and a massive scramble in the wake of one of the scheduled fighters dropping out. The UFC, willing to do almost anything besides cancel the fight and lose all that money, calmed the waves of angry complaints by promising the attendance of an old fan favorite. When it went public just a week in advance that Tommy Riordan would be taking the place of the forfeited fighter, an electrifying excitement had the MMA community buzzing, and had UFC coordinators already planning what they would be doing with their bonuses after exploiting the return of the notoriously vicious and enigmatic ex-marine.

Everyone from commercial sponsors to the holding company that owned the arena would be taking advantage of Tommy's attendance. And he couldn't have been the least bit phased by it. He wasn't there for the theatrics, the fame, the extra money that came with accepting sponsorships. He fought, he won, he took the money he earned, and then he trained until the next opportunity to repeat the process came along. He ignored the media, and refused to release any personal information about himself. It was such an interesting technique. Ada knew next to nothing about the sport, but even she knew that his approach to his career was methodologically unique, and was probably one of many things that made him so popular.

She hardly saw Tommy in the week leading up to the fight. His time, energy, and focus were dedicated solely to his preparation. Once, she stopped by his gym at his request, to meet the man that would be travelling with them to Baltimore. Colt Boyd was an energetic and encouraging man, whose title was the owner of Colt's Gym, and who desperately wanted the title of Tommy's trainer as well. Tommy denied him the position, but had no problem in calling him Boss, and saw no problem in his additional support at the fight. The two men had a strange relationship, Ada noticed, even in the short amount of time she saw them together. Colt talked a lot, Tommy said hardly anything. They frustrated each other easily, with Colt pushing suggestions about his techniques on him, and Tommy refusing to follow his guidance just out of spite. But they were both huge assets to each other, and in understanding this, there was a strong mutual respect.

Ada was surprised to discover just how popular MMA was. All this time, she'd only heard of the UFC from her brother, but never imagined what a massive following it had, rivaling the NFL, MLB, and NBA. It was a secret that wasn't really a secret at all. She needed to only bring up the sport in question to the clerks and other doctors within her office and suddenly there were fight fans all around her. All this time she'd had no idea. There was a wave of facepalms around the office when they made the connection that the Thomas Conlon she'd treated back in August and September was, in fact, the Tommy Riordan they'd seen competing in Sparta.

"That's why he looked so familiar!" One clerk had exclaimed while expressing her frustrations in having unknowingly interacted with the popular fighter multiple times, but never once recognizing him.

It was suggested to her that she search Tommy Riordan on the internet, just to get a feel for what she'd see in Baltimore. According to her co-workers, Tommy was an "animal", "had Sparta in the bag", and the only reason Brendan Conlon had won was because "Riordan was distracted. He was getting arrested after the fight; that shit would put anyone off their game."

It was a tempting notion, to take a peek at the events that led to his underground fame. But Ada resisted, sticking to her plan of remaining in the dark until the Saturday of the fight. She was about to be introduced to a whole new world – one she never imagined she would ever be a part of, and especially not as a romantic link to one of its top middleweight fighters. She wanted to be as surprised as possible. For better or for worse, she wasn't sure yet. But she was excited about the prospect of marveling in a massive culture shock.

The sound of quick, heavy footsteps captured her attention, and Ada glanced up from her laptop just as her fighter came bounding over the back of the couch, landing on the cushions beside her with an ungraceful flop. He turned to her, radiating with uncharacteristic energy and excitement, folding the laptop closed and removing it from her lap. "Babe," he said, holding up his hands, palms facing outward. "Hit me."

She cocked her head to the side. "No?" she said, her eyes narrowing against the strange request.

"Come on!" He encouraged, patting his chest. "Hit me."

Ada sighed, shifting to face him. She regarded him for a moment, then balled her hand, recoiled her arm, and pushed her fist forward with mediocre momentum. He deflected the half-assed punch with a swipe of his hand, and tutted his tongue disapprovingly. "Weak," he said, and raised his hands again. "Come on, put some power into it. It ain't like you're gonna hurt me."

"You don't know that," she said, and her only response came in the form of two raised eyebrows. She threw him another punch, and he slapped her fist away with minimal effort, encouraging her to try again, so she did, and the result was the same. She sat there for several moments, watching him with clear distaste for the game. It was a long enough stretch of time for him to catch the hint that she no longer wanted to participate in the activity. He lowered his hands slightly, and Ada took that window of opportunity to catch him off guard, and lunge at him. She knocked him back into the arm of the couch, pressing hard against his shoulders to keep him pinned in place. Her physical power over him was merely an illusion, and he took pleasure in letting her believe for a moment that she'd won. However, as soon as that victorious smile began to stretch across her lips, eyes shining slyly, he wrapped his arms around her, and lifted himself easily, sending the both of them crashing back into the seat cushions.

He landed on her lightly, chuckling with amusement as he searched her face. "I don't even know why you try."

"Sometimes losing is more fun," she said, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him down into a hard kiss. When he pulled away, he relaxed a little further, and Ada enjoyed the feeling of his weight pressing onto her, making her breathing just a little more labored against the added pressure. He rested his chin against her chest, and she ran her fingers through his hair, pulling the thin locks out to their full length of and silently deciding that he was due for a haircut. She voiced as much to him, and he hid his grimace in a kiss to her bosom. He disliked keeping up with such trivial hygiene maintenance, and his excuse was that it had been an annoying top priority in his years as a marine, to have to keep his head and his face freshly shaven, always. Now, he didn't bother shaving his face until he started growing a nice, thick scruff, and he refused to cut his hair until his bangs touched his eyes. Oh, the little joys in life.

"You'll be happy to know, before you so rudely interrupted me to encourage domestic abuse, that I successfully booked our hotel," Ada said. They could have easily driven home after the fight. Baltimore was not that far away from Pittsburgh. But as Tommy's birthday was only several days away from the fight, and fell on a day right smack dab in the middle of the work week, they'd decided to make Baltimore a weekend trip. Neither of them had ever been to the city. They had no idea what it had to offer. It would be a weekend of exploration…assuming they had any time. "Last-minute reservations? Yeah, never again. That was not fun."

"We at the Motel 6?" he asked, perfectly imperfect teeth peeking out through a lopsided smile.

"Who do you think I am?" Ada gasped in mock-offense, which quickly transformed into genuine pride. "I worked my magic and got us into the Wyndham Peabody." At his silent stare, questioning the unfamiliar name, she continued with, "All you need to know is that it is beautiful, affordable, and it is quiet."

He smiled, gently nipped at her skin briefly, and then said, "Good job, babe."

"Are you excited for Saturday?"

Tommy didn't answer immediately, first propping himself up on his elbows to look get a better look at her face. "Sure," he said, eyes narrowing slightly. "It's quick money."

"Not excited about all the attention, all the fans?"

He shrugged, "It's just noise."

"Not the reason why you do it?" He shook his head. "Pilar, right?" Tommy hesitated, and then gave a small nod. "Have you talked to her lately?"

"Naw," he sighed. "Don't have to. She knows my word still stands strong." She didn't push to expand too much on the subject in therapy, but Ada found it remarkably admirable, nonetheless. Tommy owed his life to his brother in arms, and though nothing would ever completely repay that debt, its pursuit came in the form of ensuring the financial security of his widow and children. He didn't have to talk about it. He didn't need to be reminded – the memory of Manny was enough. He would stop at nothing until he personally made sure the Fernandez family was taken care of. It wasn't a path to redemption, and it wouldn't alleviate his guilt as a survivor. She didn't think he thought it would. He simply made a promise he planned to keep, and his dedication to that promise was one of the most beautiful aspects of the ex-marine's character.

"Have you tried talking to your father or Brendan at all?"

"Nope," he said simply.

"Do you think they know about the fight?"

"Probably."

"Tommy," Ada said his name softly to catch his wandering gaze. "Have they been trying to get a hold of you?" His pause betrayed him, and she released a frustrated sigh. "Tommy, we talked about this. I understand it takes a lot of time, but you can't just completely thwart their efforts."

"Yeah, I get that Ada," he said, his tone hard as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. She followed. "But you already know they're gonna try Christmas. That'll just be another fuck up." He rubbed his face with his hands, and then exhaled deeply through his nose as he turned his head to look at her. "We'll pick it up again next year."

Ada had no idea what to expect, and Tommy wasn't giving much away. When they arrived in Baltimore, he was as calm, informed, and orderly as if he were following the detailed directions of some invisible itinerary. They checked into the Peabody, where Colt soon met up with them. The gym owner looked dressed for business, and Ada matched him in a fitting pair of slacks, a blouse, and a fashionable winter pea coat. She wasn't sure if it was appropriate or not to wear to a fight. Should she have dressed casual, because it was only a fight? Or was her dress code automatically different, because she was a part of a fighter's entourage? Tommy couldn't care less either way – he looked like he'd just woken up and was getting ready to go for a run.

The three of them sat in the entrance hall of the hotel, occupying a row of chairs pushed up against a wall, Tommy in a focused silence, Cole poring over his cell phone, and Ada on the lookout for the vehicle that was supposed to pick them up. According to Cole, their source of transportation was issued by the UFC, and when the vehicle arrived, inside would be an agent that would be delivering all the appropriate passes allowing them free access around the arena.

When a large black SUV rolled to a stop at the front doors of the hotel, Ada figured their ride had arrived. When a very posh and poised woman climbed out, hurrying up to the doors, and acknowledging the valet parkers with a brief nod, she knew that it was time to go. The woman looked to be in her mid to late thirties, small body filling out a tight-fitting designer skirt suit. Her makeup was heavy, but flawless, and her honey blonde hair was rolled into a perfect French twist. A Bluetooth was firmly embedded into her left ear. Her eyes searched the lobby and quickly spotted her target, heels clicking against marble at a steady pace as she closed the distance to greet them.

"Mr. Riordan?" Tommy glanced up at his fighting name, and then did a double-take, immediately standing when he realized who the woman was. "Mr. Riordan, thank you so much for coming today. My name Julie Anderson, I'm a representative for the UFC. Today, I'm accompanying you on your drive to and your arrival inside the 1st Mariner Arena, where I will fill you in on exactly what is to be expected tonight. Everything from press behavior to where to sign for your paycheck. Is this all right with you?"

Julie Anderson spoke extremely fast due to her scripted nature, and it took Tommy a moment to catch up and formulate a response. "Uh, yeah."

"Perfect!" The representative smiled, revealing a perfect set of gleaming white teeth, and then spun on her heel. "Let's get to it, then."

As soon as they'd climbed into the SUV, with windows tinted so dark it was impossible to see inside, Anderson immediately turned around in her seat, handing off two lanyards laden with different security passes to Cole and Ada, ordering to keep them on at all times. She quickly explained the significance of each one; front row seating, access back stage, admission into the locker rooms, etc. Once she'd finished her business with the guests, she focused her attention once again on Tommy. Since the fighter was so adamant on avoiding media attention, she relayed the warning that the press was given free roaming rights around the arena, and though the locker rooms were their only restricted areas, that wouldn't stop them from trying.

It was easy to believe that Tommy Conlon was a professional MMA fighter. She could understand how his mysterious personality and knack for heroic behavior would make him loved by people all over the world. She could imagine that he was a remarkable phenomenon for his strength and abnormal behavior. Ada could understand why he would be famous in this world of fighting.

But being subjected to that fame first hand, was a completely different experience altogether. Nothing could have prepared her for that. That blow to the stomach when she realized, very suddenly, that Tommy was not just well known. He was a straight, top-of-the-list celebrity to these people. And though he was fairly new in the game, he was welcomed with open arms into the big leagues. In all her time with him, even in public, he'd never been received in such a light. He never gave away just how much of an influence he had in this alternate universe. He downplayed his reputation so, so well.

Thus, when the SUV braked in front of the back entrance to the arena, and Ada saw the dozens of reporters waiting around for the arrival of the night's highlighting stars, the sheet of surrealism she'd been living under was ripped away, and she was promptly thrown into an astonishing reality. Tommy leaned forward beside her slightly to take in the sight of the waiting press, and then groaned, falling back into his original position.

Anderson unbuckled, facing the three in the back seat once again. "Keep your hood up, sunglasses on, and your head down," she told Tommy. "You'll be escorted inside."

Ada dug through her purse, producing Tommy's aviators, as well as her own pair of sunglasses, shoving them onto her face as Tommy threw up his hood. Three pairs of security guards exited from the building, and approached the car. Anderson opened her door, and Colt followed her lead. They climbed, one by one, out into the dry chill, and immediately the air filled with shouting voices, and the sharp click of cameras. Tommy threw his duffel bag over his shoulders, and wrapped his arm around Ada as she stood in awe at the sight. She felt a soft press against her back, and turned to find a security guard on the other side of her, urging her forward. She and Tommy ducked their heads together as they hurried indoors, the security that flanked them keeping their path clear from the reporters.

Inside was no less chaotic. Events staff, technicians, vendors, correspondents, and program officials bustled all around them. Each focused on their own individual task, weaving in and out of each other's way. A man with a clipboard and a headset stood not too far from the door. He looked up when they entered, yelling to no one in particular, "Riordan's here!" as he made a check with his pen on the clipboard.

As soon as the words were from his mouth, two officials had rushed up, removed Tommy from Ada's side, and were guiding him off in another direction with Julie Anderson before she even had the chance to ask where they were going.

"Mandatory procedure stuff," Colt answered her silent question as his eyes jumped around to the different backstage activities. "Weigh-ins, paperwork, trying to convince him to do a profile, pick a walk-out song, recruit sponsorships. Shouldn't take too long. They won't get much out of him."

He was right. A little over an hour later, Ada and Colt were sitting in fold-out chairs near Tommy's locker room, watching the people that passed by. The atmosphere was tense, stressed, and excited all at once, and Ada could feel it. Her muscles clenched so tightly she shook, and she worked hard to relax herself. Soon enough, a very annoyed-looking Tommy Conlon stalked toward them, alone, and they stood, following him into the locker room.

"How much are they paying you?" Colt asked as Tommy slid his duffel bag off his shoulder to drop onto the bench Ada was sat upon.

"Twenty-five K if I win," he said simply, planting a quick kiss on Ada's forehead as he unzipped the bag.

"That's not much," the colleague pointed out, and Tommy shrugged.

"I'm new. They're taking advantage of it." Ada watched as he pulled out gloves, shorts, tape, towels, a water bottle, setting them all in a neat row along the wood plank.

"That's not a lot?" Ada asked, and Colt shook his head fervently.

"Chances are, the other guy's taking home anywhere between three to five-hundred grand just for fighting. But he's also got sponsors."

She nodded in understanding and then watched the fighter as he sat down in front of her, pulling off his running shoes. "What happens now?" she asked him.

He shrugged, removing his socks, and stretched out his toes. "Nothing."

Four hours isn't much time, really. But in anticipation of an internationally televised event, it felt like forever. Colt had excused himself to roam, but Ada remained with Tommy. They didn't talk. He spent his time stretching, jump-roping, throwing punches to the air, and hopping around. She paced around, head buzzing with the possibilities of what could happen tonight. What if he lost? What if he was actually seriously injured? What would happen? What would that do to him?

She promised herself that she wouldn't worry. She encouraged his participation in the sport; she didn't have the right to worry. She had to be strong, supportive, and whatever else he needed her to be. And she would be. But _fuck, _she was scared. With each passing hour, she regretted more and more her awful decision to remain ignorant of the man Tommy was fighting. She wanted to know his name, what he looked like, how he fought, and what his chances were of whooping Tommy's ass. She wanted to know what people were saying about him, about the fight. The locker room was quiet, but she could hear the distant rabble of voices outside and above them as fans began to fill the arena. How many of them would be rooting for Tommy?

They were given a twenty-minute warning, and shortly afterwards Colt rejoined them, setting to the task of taping Tommy's hands and mumbling news to him about what was going on outside. How many people were there, who was broadcasting, how thick the press was outside. The fighter listened, nodding every once in a while. He stuffed his hands inside his gloves, flexing his fingers. He was so eerily calm. On the outside, at least. She had no idea what was going on in the inside, but she had a feeling that he was trying his best not to think at all. Only a few punches stood between him and a pretty paycheck. That's all he needed to think about.

When she touched his arm to let him know that she was leaving to grab her seat, he pulled her to him in a tight embrace. "Where you gonna be?" he asked quietly against her ear.

"Right up front, to the right of your cage door," she recited, visualizing the exact place when she and Colt had gone to check earlier. He nodded, releasing her, and stood back. Ada gave him an encouraging smile and reached up to brush the hair away from his forehead.

"All right," she sighed, after a length of silence had passed between them. "Make it quick."

The arena was alive with the excited chatter and movement of thousands of bodies. Fourteen thousand, to be exact. Guests continued to flood in from the entrances, and by the start of the fight, every single seat in the bowl would be occupied by a fan. Ada sat at the edge of her fold-out chair, her muscles tense and her stomach fluttering. She craned her neck to look around the 360 arena. So many people. She wondered if they were happier that Tommy was here, instead of the original man supposed to be fighting. Along the cage, cameramen were fiddling with their equipment, climbing up the fencing and peeking inside the lenses to adjust their focus and angle. Directly above the cage, high in the air, were four massive white screens huddled together in a square, projecting different advertisements from the night's sponsors. Soon, they would be screening an up-close shot of the fight, for those in the nosebleeds.

Tommy would be on the screen. Because Tommy would be in the cage. A sold-out fight, and he was one of the fighters. Lightheaded at the thought, Ada turned to see how Colt was fairing. He was on his phone yet again, hunched over and biting at the nail on his middle finger. Colt knew who Tommy was fighting. The nail-biting was a nervous habit usually, but his body language appeared otherwise under homeostasis, and Ada found herself breathing a sigh of relief.

When the background music suddenly faded to silence almost fifteen minutes later, there was a loud round of cheers from the thousands. And when the lights of the arena shut off, spotlights focusing in on an entrance area on the other side of the cage, the cheers rose to a deafening volume. An announcement was made, but the voice was no more than an inaudible mumble against the screams. Ada's heart pounded as she rose to her feet with the others, standing on her tiptoes to try to catch a glimpse between the chain links at the man about to come out.

A melody filled the air, the beat lively and electric. There was singing, but the signature shrill puff of an accordion overpowered the voice. If it was even possible, the crowd grew louder. On the other side of the cage, she could see movement. Soon, a group of men were standing in front of the cage door. Only one of them was shirtless. He held his arms out, allowing himself to be pat down. When the door opened for him, he hopped up the steps and jogged into the Octagon, taking the liberty to do a few laps and shake his limbs out.

The small relief Ada felt earlier faded to nothing. The fighter was tanned, toned, and had a face that looked ready to kill. He was all lean muscle, but what he lacked in bulk, he made up for in length. His height was phenomenal; this man belonged on a basketball court, not in a cage. She hoped to hell that his height was all he had going for him. If his strength and agility were as extraordinary as his stature, they could go ahead and call it a night.

The dim lighting of the arena cut to black again in an instant, and the crowd was rejuvenated. The spotlights shined on her side of the cage, at the pathway only a few seats away from her. The fans, they knew that Tommy didn't have walk-out music. And they knew what to do about it. Ada found herself grinning as the arena slowly joined together in unison, clapping their hands and shouting a rhythmic chant of the fighter's name. "Tom-my! Tom-my! Tom-my!" She laughed in excitement at the wondrous enthusiasm directed toward her fighter, and she had no idea how the sound of his name echoed back to him by the thousands didn't leave him just breathlessly elated.

Tommy walked down the pathway, surrounded by security. The hood of his plain black sweatshirt was pulled over his head, and he kept his eyes on the ground. When he reached the foot of the steps up to the cage door, he pulled the sweatshirt off and handed it to the first outstretched hand he saw, leaving himself in only a plain black pair of shorts. He represented no name brand, no company; only himself. Like his opponent, he held his arms out, allowing himself to be patted from his ears down to his feet. Two figures on either side of him quickly wiped his brow and cheeks with what looked like Vaseline while the referee was knelt down, and moved away from him when the referee stood straight again. He nodded, and pointed up the steps, giving him the go.

As Tommy jogged up the steps, the arena went bright again, and the population erupted into another round of cheers. He jogged back and forth on his side of the cage, and even glanced out in her direction. Whether he saw her or not, he gave no inclination. He was hunched in his fighter's stance, face set to a concentrated scowl. Level with his opposition, Ada could see the significant difference between the two men. Tommy was at least a head shorter than the Italian across from him, but wider. While Tommy's focused glare was intimidating, the other fighter looked close to foaming at the mouth. Tommy hopped around, staying light on his feet, and shook his limbs out in a similar manner to his opponent. The two fighters watched each other, and Ada briefly imagined herself as overlooking the pit of the Colosseum, anticipating the battle of two gladiators. The roaring crowd only enhanced her vision, acting the part of the ruthless Roman mob, eager for bloodshed.

The referee inside the octagon stepped forward, motioning for the fighters to come forward. They did, and up on the big screens, Ada could see the faces of the three men huddled close together as the referee relayed the rules of the fight. A young and beautiful scantily-clothed woman strutted around the perimeter of the cage, a wide smile fixed on her face as she held up the number of the round. The two fighters touched gloves, and then returned to their corners, positioning themselves.

Ada wrung her hands together as the referee stood in the middle of the floor, hunched and holding his arms out to each fighter. He motioned to the Italian, who nodded, and then to Tommy, who also mirrored the gesture. At that, he threw his hands together in a loud, echoing clap, and yelled, "Fight!"

The two men were off, holding their fists out defensively as they approached each other. Tommy attempted a sharp strike, which the Italian dodged with minimal effort. He was a dancer, and for the majority of the first round, he kept up with the technique of hopping around, dodging Tommy's attacks. It was clear that Tommy's annoyance was growing, and his eyes blazed viciously as his opponent kicked out a long leg, striking him in the thigh. He threw a punch, but the Italian dodged it, swinging his arm wide, fist connecting with the left side of Tommy's jaw. The impact jolted Tommy's head to the side. But he quickly turned back, and with a sneer, he advanced on the giant with remarkable speed, catching him off guard as he swung an arm out and knocked him back into the fence.

Ada found herself screaming short, incomprehensible phrases of encouragement as Tommy landed blow after blow on the fighter, whose hands defensively shielded his head and his stomach. Just when the opposition decided to take a chance at vulnerability to push off the fence and take on Tommy, the horn blew signaling the end of the round, and the referee pulled the two fighters apart.

Tommy retreated back to his corner, shoulders hunched as he breathed heavily and paced back and forth like a wild animal. On the other side of the cage, two men entered and were tending to the Italian, massaging the muscles that had absorbed Tommy's multiple attacks.

In no time though, the fighters were back in stance, waiting as Round 2 paced the perimeter with a pretty smile. "Fight!" the referee announced, and Tommy wasted no time in going on the offense. He offered a right hook to the Italian's cheek, and followed it up with a hard blow to the side. The opposition doubled over, and Tommy took the opportunity to throw a knee up, and then another. He kicked hard into the side of his torso, and then gave one final devastating strike to the side of the fighter's head. The Italian fell to the ground, motionless, and the arena came unglued at the abrupt ending. A moment later, after she realized it was over, Ada released a loud, lasting yell, throwing her hands up in the air as her heart pounded in her chest.

As soon as he was sure that the Italian was down, Tommy removed his mouthpiece, and stocked over to the door of the cage, pushing it open. He jogged down the steps and began his trek back to the locker room, security hurrying to catch up with him, and escort him back.

It was over. It was over, and Tommy won. He _won. _

"Fucking Tommy! That's how you do it!" Colt was in hysterics beside her, clapping and laughing, and shouting for joy.

Her cheeks hurt, and her mouth was so dry. Her stomach continued to flutter as she looked down the walkway. Ada didn't know whether she was supposed to wait there, or return to the backstage area. She didn't know what she was expected to do now that the fight was over, but she knew, _knew_, that she had to find him.

Ada pushed past the others in her row, and rushed down the aisle to the hall leading to restricted area. Security stopped her, and she flashed them her lanyard. They picked the pass they were supposed to see, the one that satisfied her request, and allowed her through. Out of the roaring thousands, her ears buzzed, making the muffled quiet of the backstage activity even quieter. She dodged figures, and elbowed through the thicket of reporters already beginning to gather outside Tommy's locker room. She held her lanyard out yet again to the men guarding the door, and after thumbing through the different passes, they stood aside, and let her in.

Ada knew he would hear her coming, as her heels echoed loudly against the tile floor of the silent, empty room. She weaved through the short maze of brick wall, and as soon as she rounded the last corner, Tommy stood at the opening, waiting.

He attacked her immediately, throwing her back into the opposite wall. He lifted her up to his eye level, pinning her against the wall with his body. Ada wrapped her legs around him, holding herself firmly in place. His skin was sticky and dripping with sweat, and she could taste the salty liquid in a ferocious kiss. The adrenaline between them made their movements hurried and clumsy as they groped at each other with rough aggressiveness and raw hunger. Tommy removed her from the wall, stumbling back into the open space of the locker room, never breaking contact at the mouth, even as Ada tore her coat away from her body, throwing it aside.

She unwrapped her legs from him, lowering herself to the ground, and immediately Tommy went for her belt. Ada stopped him with a hand on his wrist, dazed and dizzy with lust as she looked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "People are going to be in here any minute," she said.

"Don't care," he said, ripping the belt through its loops in one swift motion. "I'll be quick."

And quick he was. Ada kicked off her heels as Tommy undid the clasps and the zipper of her slacks, pulling them down and taking her lingerie with them. She stepped out of the pile of clothing as he reached inside the front of his shorts, pulling his cup out and tossing it away from him. He slid the elastic material down the length of his thighs, not even bothering to remove them entirely. He lifted her up, and she enhanced the propel with a jump, hooking her legs around the circumference of his waist once again.

It didn't take much to ready her, as the excitement of the day's events had done most of the work for him. He braced her against the nearest wall, and entered her with a hard thrust.

They didn't have much time, so they didn't waste it. Ada wrapped her arms tight around his shoulders and head, burying her face into his neck to muffle her moans. They moved together at a fast, forceful pace, Tommy breathing heavily through bared teeth as he bit down on her collarbone. After several minutes of pure, unadulterated bliss he shuddered, letting out a low groan as he allowed himself to give in to his initial wave of ecstasy instead of holding back to make it last. Ada brushed her mouth over the hollow point beneath his ear, throbbing with the want and desire for the moment to continue. But he was satisfied enough for now, and that was enough to please her.

They'd tend to unfinished business later.

Tommy remained in place, taut against her, catching his breath. He lifted his sweating forehead from her chest, and captured her lips in a dry, exhausted kiss. When he pulled back, she could already see a bruise forming low on his jaw, where the Italian had struck him. "So, you won," she pointed out breathlessly.

He stared at her in silence, gray eyes shining, and slowly growing wider with his amusement. "I know."

* * *

_;)_


	9. Kevlar Hearts

**Coming Home**

_-If A Missile Drops In the Middle of A Desert, Does Anyone Hear It?-_

"I thought you didn't drink coffee."

Tommy broke his hard stare with the steaming black liquid to glance up at the familiar voice. Brendan offered a small smile as he slid into the empty seat across from him in the booth, and he was surprised to find himself returning the gesture. "Do now."

"Ada take the day off?" Brendan asked casually, hinting that he took notice of the Mercedes in the parking lot.

"Naw, she's got the Prius," he said, leaning back in his seat.

"I thought she traded it in."

"She can afford options."

Brendan agreed with a nod and a huff of laughter, regarding his brother closely. He looked different. Bigger in size, as he obviously continued his incessant training. More relaxed than he'd seen him in the last few months, though he was clearly still holding onto his nerves for dear life. But above all he looked exhausted. Absolutely, unmistakably worn out. "How you been, Tommy?" he asked carefully.

"Good, good," he said lightly, with a slow, contemplative nod, gaze unfocused. "How about you?"

"Same as ever," Brendan responded with a sigh and a high shrug. "Second half of the school year. The kids are starting to get antsy, makes my job a helluva lot harder."

"Ah yeah?" Tommy asked with mild interest, bringing his mug up for a drink.

He nodded, eyes searching the face of the man across from him. A scruffy beard a few days in the making. Deep, dark circles under his eyes. His posture was lax, as though sitting up would require an energy he just didn't have. "You look tired, Tommy."

The younger brother surprised him with a laugh. "Yeah?" he said. "I bet."

"Ada keeping you up at nights? What's going on?" Brendan was careful to keep his tone playful, as his concern and curiosity rose.

"No – well, yeah that too," he corrected himself quickly with a private smirk. "Naw, I'm trying to make weight for something coming up." He scratched his head briefly, and then brushed his hand over his hair. "Been doing Paleo. Have you heard of this shit?" Brendan winced, and nodded. The Paleo diet was not pleasant, and one that took true grit. No sugar, no dairy, no grains of any kind, no exceptions. The body will grow used to it over time, but it will reject a Paleo diet fiercely the first few weeks as it craves a wide variety of more satisfying substances. "Knocked me right on my ass," Tommy said, his expression long, as though he couldn't believe, couldn't understand why such a healthy eating plan could feel so horrible.

"It's rough, man," Brendan sympathized. "But you'll get your energy back soon."

"I better," Tommy's gaze trailed over to the window. Philadelphia had caught a late snowfall a couple days ago. It was cold enough to keep the snow around, but not cold enough to make more, and a steady rainfall left surfaces with an annoying, thick slush around the city. Everything was gray, and wet, and void of any splendor. He turned his head away from the window, suppressing a grimace. He fucking hated winter.

"How's Ada?"

"She's good." Tommy appreciated his brother's constant need to keep conversation flowing. It kept him talking, thinking, buying him time until he figured out how to say what he really needed to. "We moved in together – yeah, I know," he acknowledged Brendan's genuine surprise. "But I think she's about ready to kick me out, though. Been an asshole since this fuckin' diet."

Brendan smiled silently at his brother's mild distress, watching as he rubbed the lower half of his face, and then lifted up the mug once again. The world could have crippled Tommy a long time ago. The life he'd been dealt was not an easy one, and most in his position would have given up by now. Yet there he was, sitting across from the brother he was trying so hard to find a way to rebuild bridges with, discussing the common stresses of a committed relationship. He envied Tommy's strength. And he was so incredibly proud of him.

As the time passed, it became increasingly easier for conversation to progress. They'd broken the ice, and Tommy was able to freely talk about his relationship with Ada, because even he knew that this was an area of some expertise for Brendan. He may have felt great distaste for his wife, but Tommy had to acknowledge that seventeen years and counting with the same woman was a noteworthy and admirable feat. Brendan had every right and reason to offer his advice and wisdom to his baby brother, who was embarking on his first serious relationship. His first had been his last. Tommy wanted to know how to do that.

"It's like living with Mom again," Tommy said with a short laugh, as he pushed chunks of lettuce around his plate with his fork. "She's pushy. Doesn't let me get away with nothing. Always hounding me about the small stuff. Gets up early, goes to bed late. Now she's talking about getting a dog, or some shit." He gave an airy snort at the thought, and a content smile relaxed on his face as he stared at his plate. "But it's fun, man," he conceded. "God, it's fun."

"You love her," Brendan pointed out, and Tommy's response overlapped his.

"I fuckin' love her."

He wanted to clap his brother on the back and congratulate him on achieving one of the most rewarding experiences life has to offer, and welcome him into the club. Instead, he resolved to asking, "Have you told her?"

Tommy glanced up quickly, as though the question caught him off guard, his eyes widened, brow furrowed ever so slightly. "Of course I have," he stated, as though Brendan should have already known the answer.

Brendan couldn't keep the grin from his face. He was a closet sap for the romantic shit. Tess had ruined him. "When did you do it?"

"Baltimore," he said slowly, thinking back. "Stayed the weekend, for my birthday. Won the fight, roamed the town, enjoyed the simple shit. Just a damn good weekend. Couldn't help myself."

"Just kind of slips out, doesn't it?" Brendan agreed, and Tommy mirrored his perplexed nod.

A silence fell over the table, but it wasn't unwelcomed. Attempting to make amends with Tommy was harder than he could have ever imagined, but he shouldn't have expected any less. The difficulty came especially with having to acknowledge and accept that control of the situation was out of his hands. Time and again, Brendan had to offer himself up, throw the ball in Tommy's court, and wait for a reaction, a response. His patience often waned when playing the waiting game, leaving the painful presence of doubt, and residual anger. But it was the price he had to pay if he wanted his brother back. And moments like this, when he could sit down with Tommy, and speak civilly, share in their experiences together, and laugh, even. It made that struggle for patience worth it.

He knew that Tommy needed something. As much as it was nice to think that he drove over five hours just for a late lunch with his brother, it was highly unlikely. Whatever it was, _whatever _– he was already prepared to give his answer. His consent. Whatever he needed, whatever he could do to help him, he would not deny that to him. Tommy shifted in his seat, rubbing his growing beard, features hard set in deep concentration. "Brendan," he finally said, his eyes shifting upward at a jagged pace. "I got a question, man."

"What's up?" he asked.

"I got a fight coming up," he explained. "In a couple weeks, falls on a Friday. Ada can't go 'cause she's saving vacation time for Sparta. Do – do you want to go?" At that moment, Brendan didn't think he could form words if he tried. Never would he have expected his brother to offer such an invitation there, that afternoon. Nor would he have imagined him to go such lengths to make it. In his silence, Tommy interpreted apprehension, and began to backtrack. "I know it's last minute, man. You don't – you don't have to. I was just-"

"No," Brendan cut him off airily, head dizzy with elation. "No man, I'd love to go. Just – just caught me off guard there."

Tommy gave an uneasy laugh. "I feel you. It's Ada's idea, but…I think it might be good. You know."

Brendan did know. He owed Ada his happiness at that moment, and for working so hard to instill a hope in Tommy that if he kept trying, things could be okay in the end. Her influence over him rivaled none other. The kind of influence every man should have in his life, to keep him humble, and grounded, and loving. Its power could bring even the most damaged, headstrong, tormented man to his knees, should he be lucky enough to experience it. His brother needed to marry that girl.

"So yeah, it's two weeks from today, in Vegas."

The noise Brendan made was somewhere between a groan and a chuckle, and he leaned as far back as he could in his seat. "Oh…" he sighed, "Tess is going to be happy about that."

Tommy rolled his eyes. "She got nothing to worry about, and she knows it."

"What – are you saying what I think you're saying?"

He nodded, eyes glowing with amusement. "You got the old ball-and-chain now, family man. Wouldn't know a good time in Vegas if it sat on your face. Probably will, at some point."

Brendan gave a hearty laugh at the playful snipe, and said, "You forget we're on the same boat now, man. Don't think Ada would be too happy to have you running wild in Sin City."

Tommy snorted as a thought came to him, and leaned forward over the table, eyebrows raised. "Why you think she made me invite you?"

Tongue in cheek, Brendan gave that one to him as he muttered small obscenities that only encouraged his brother's mirth.

It was nearing eleven by the time Tommy returned from Philadelphia. Meeting with Brendan had been…a step in the right direction. He hadn't expected it to be so easy to set aside his trepidation and just be there with him. In fact, it was hard to believe how well it had gone. Ada was right when she said that they didn't know each other anymore. They were grown-up versions of the kids they once knew. The grown-up version of Brendan was a respectable man. One that he could probably learn a lot from. When he ignored the bits and pieces of the past reminding him why he should hate his brother, he actually kind of liked him.

There was a tightening in his chest the whole way home, a pull at his heart, a pressing on his lungs. Like someone was giving him an annoying ass hug, and wouldn't let go. From excitement, maybe. Fear, probably. He had no idea what he was feeling. Ada would have the right word. He just hoped that inviting him wasn't a mistake. Things were all right today, but they'd only spent a couple hours together. A whole weekend felt like it might be pushing their luck.

Ah well, too late now. Wasn't like they couldn't do much more damage than they'd already done.

The condo was empty when he got back. Weird, but he didn't think too much of it. Maybe she was down at the bar. Maybe there was an emergency at work – those needy little fucks she took care of always needed her at the most inconvenient times. When he was a client, he never called her in her off hours. Not even when he really wanted to. Those were her personal hours, to spend at home, or wherever else she needed to be. But they always had her working. Constantly checking her email. Leaving in the middle of the night to put one of them under suicide watch. The melodramatic shitheads really knew how to ruin a good night's sleep.

She was mean to them, too. Especially the ones that called late. He would listen, as she ran around their room, gathering up pieces of clothing and throwing them on while attempting to talk whoever it was on the other end out of whatever it was they were thinking of doing. She would hiss things like "are you fucking kidding me?" or "you're a smart guy, I know you are, but you're dumb in the head if you think that's going to help anything". One of his favorites, that she always used first while still half-asleep, was "Stop crying, go look at your sleeping children. If you feel the same way in twenty minutes, call me."

Most didn't call back. The ones that did ended up getting the borderline verbal abuse. But they would take it, because that was Ada. They interpreted her chastising as tough love, and for a lot of them, that was exactly what they needed. Babying them wasn't going to help anyone. Anyway, he was pretty sure she didn't have that capability. She could do gentle, if she tried. But she wasn't coddling no one.

Tommy fell back into the couch, plate of leftover grilled chicken in his hand as he grabbed the remote. What was on at eleven o'clock at night? News. He settled for the good news, the shit on HBO. _Real Time with Bill Maher. _Dude was a riot, all about the confrontation. Such a pompous dick, but so, so funny. He settled into a comfortable position, picking at the chicken to test the temperature as he caught up with the current topic of discussion among the panel of guests.

It was war. Didn't take him that long to figure it out. They were discussing numbers. But those numbers weren't casualties. They never were. Casualties were the last thing on anyone's mind, just another part of the game. They were talking spending. Money. The war for power that drove the deficit sky high and then some.

_Shouldn't have put all your fucking money in a lost cause_, he thought to himself bitterly. _Waste of fucking time. _

Politics were a bad idea. Tommy tossed the plate onto the table in front of him, and picked up the remote again. A surge of annoyance and anger ran through him, burning deep in his stomach, scorching the back of his neck. Tingling his skin and making his muscles ache, restless and eager for movement.

It was wrong. All fucking wrong. An ego trip, was what it was. Powerful men he would never meet ordering him to fight their battles for them. Asking to knock on the doors of diminished governments, to play both soldier and solicitor. Some sort of salesman of fucking democracy. Asking him to play God over there, as if they had any fucking idea what that does to a man. Terrorists don't wear nametags, but that wasn't supposed to matter to them. Men, women, children. They weren't trained to acknowledge the difference.

Kids were fucking dying over there. They were killing each other. Quaking under the pressure of empire. Guess that's what happens when you throw big guns into the arms of little boys, and tell them to become men. Keep yourself, and your brothers alive. But when you're over there long enough, sucking up the smoke and the dust, dodging shrapnel and shredded flesh. When everything turns yellow, apparently brothers start looking like enemies, too.

He found himself frozen, seething as he stared at the television, unable to look away. Unable to stop listening. These people, they had no idea what they were talking about. They could spout off numbers and strategies all they fucking wanted, but that didn't change what was happening over there. It was a wasteland. Limbo. And if you weren't losing your life, or parts of your body, you were losing your mind.

After the bombs drop, and you take a tour of the damage you'd done, tiptoeing over broken ground, fires still raging, billowing clouds of dust still hanging in the air. Gunning down survivors. Sometimes you find bodies, lying limp and broken among the wreckage, covered in a thick coat of ash. But the closer it was to the impact site, the thicker the rubble, the denser the debris, there were no bodies to be found. Only body parts. That shit can't be unseen. That shit sticks with you.

Tommy shut his eyes tight against the vision, able to taste the dry acridity of ash and soot in his mouth. _Where was Ada?_ The desert is a dangerous place. When you see your allies fly overhead, you wave your flags to let them know you're on the same side. When you're up in the air, you pay special attention to the actions of those on the ground before you make a decision. It's protocol. They were supposed to know that. _Why did they fire?_

His men were waving their flags, just like they were supposed to. Smiling, even, as they attempted to catch a better look at the jets flying in strict formation over the night sky. It got lonely out there; was always good to see comrades, even if they were up in the air. Manny was laughing and pointing as he frantically waved his flag. He was shouting words of admiration as the sound of the roaring engines began to catch up to them, always a fan of the magnificence of United States Aircraft.

Tommy was maybe twenty, thirty yards away from Manny, having been inspecting the Humvee while the others killed time exploring the deserted structures that were probably once a village. He remembered, he wasn't even watching the jets anymore. His brother's excitement was contagious. Most days, it was as boring as it was dangerous out there, and something as simple as stopping to greet the friends in the sky was enough to make their day. Manny cheered as the aircrafts approached, arms stretched high above his head, some of the men around him mirroring his actions. He was always the team motivator. He and Manny were the oldest in the platoon, and certainly the ones with the most tours on their records. The younger soldiers looked up to them, but Manny especially. He was so kind, with a huge heart and the patience of a saint. Always there to give the support a soldier needed to keep moving, whether it was in times of trauma, or times of homesickness.

It took a lot of looking back to realize that the shouts he heard as the jets flew directly overhead were no longer out of enthusiasm. The roar was deafening, and then suddenly the ground was moving. The blast was so hot he was sure it had melted the skin right off his face, impact so powerful, so close that he was thrown back into the side of the Humvee, force knocking the breath right out of him. A painful ringing pierced his ears, and he was blinded by the smoke and dirt that had been blown sky high. Dizzy, confused, at that moment all he could think was to huddle against the side of the vehicle, and keep his head covered as debris and rubble showered all around him.

When the initial, heavy fragments had settled, he forced himself to stand and stumble to the other side of the Humvee, away from the site of impact. He couldn't see, he couldn't hear, but he knew they'd been attacked, and it was time to fight. Tommy had wretched the driver's side door open and grabbed his rifle from the seat. That's why the jets had come. It had to be. They knew that his platoon was going to be ambushed. They'd come to intervene.

He'd rested against the vehicle, heart pounding, wheezing and coughing in an effort to expel the dust and smoke from his lungs. He tried to listen over the sharp ringing, waiting for the sounds of warfare to tell him where to go, what to do next. A shouting voice, gunfire, another explosion. But there was nothing, only the sound of the jet engines fading in the distance, and those had soon disappeared, too. Why was it so quiet? Insurgents wouldn't have moved on so quickly. If they were planning an attack on his platoon, they would have made sure there were no survivors. And there had to be survivors. If he was far enough away to survive the blast, there had to be more of his men who were lucky enough to avoid it.

Tommy grabbed a flashlight from inside the door. Rifle held low against his shoulder, fingers ready at the trigger, front end balanced on the extended forearm of the hand that held the flashlight in position, he tread lightly over to the other side of the Humvee once more. The debris had settled, but smoke and soot still hung in the air, slowly beginning to thin out. He called out Manny's name. And then another. And another. When he received no response, he asked in general, if anybody was out there. If anybody was alive. If they were hurt, how badly. Where was their location.

Tommy forfeited all visibility and stepped deep into the dense brown cloud, boots staggering over broken ground and chunks of rubble. How had they not seen this coming? No grenade could have caused a blast like that. Multiple blasts. No other birds were in the sky, except for Americans. How could they have detonated land mines, when they'd been treading that land all day? No one had snuck up on them. They'd been scattered all around the area. It didn't make sense. Where was Manny? Where was his brother? Where were his men?

He continued kicking at the rubble, yelling out for his comrades. His eyes and his lungs burned, fiercely rejecting the polluted air. He was wounded somewhere. Many places, maybe. But blood was definitely dripping from an abrasion over his right eye, trickling down and stinging his scorched skin. He ignored it, keeping watch all around him as he shifted his eyes to the ground, then back up again in a frequent rhythm.

The beam of light from the flashlight landed on a jagged piece of shrapnel sticking up out of the ground just ahead of him, and he jogged over to it, surveying his surroundings before he dropped to one knee. The metal pulled easily from the broken dirt, but Tommy quickly released it from his grasp, wincing as it was still hot to the touch. He stared at the scrap of artillery, confused as to why it looked so familiar. It shouldn't have been so easy to identify. Couldn't have. The Iraqis used different weaponry than they did.

When it hit Tommy, it knocked him right off balance, and he fell to the ground in defeat. He couldn't believe it. There was no possible way that it could have happened. There had to be some other explanation as to how his platoon had been wiped out in a matter of seconds. This wasn't it. It couldn't be. _But it was. _It wasn't a grenade. It wasn't a landmine. There hadn't even been any kind of ambush, no enemy attack.

Those bombs fell from the sky.

The turn of a lock drew Tommy out of the desert and into the present with startling abruptness. He lifted his head from his shaking hands, half thankful to be relieved of his memory, half angry that his saving grace hadn't been there sooner. Ada opened the door and stepped inside, purse on her arm and keys in hand as she flipped through a stack of papers. When she walked out of the entrance hall into the living room, where he could see her in full light, that anger heightened.

There was no fucking way she'd been at work. Her makeup was way too dark and dramatic for work. Her hair was pinned up into some intricate style that looked like it took a lot of time. And the dress…she'd never worn anything like that before. Bright red, short, and way too revealing for anything other than his own private viewing. Where had she been hiding that dress? "Hey baby," she said lightly as she crossed over into the kitchen, and relieved herself of her purse and keys.

"Where you been?" he called out to her, his voice tense.

"I figured you wouldn't be back until later, so I went out dancing," she said casually as she strolled over to the couch, stack of papers in hand. Dancing? _What the fuck_.

"You don't dance," he said, features contorting into annoyed confusion.

"Yes I do," Ada corrected amusedly, white smile shining brightly against the contrast of ruby red-painted lips. "I'm pretty sure I told you that the first day we met. There's a Salsa club on the East side, and I wanted to check it out."

Tommy turned away with a grunt, scowl deepening. Whatever Salsa was, it probably meant she was out rubbing up against some asshole all night when she should've been here. _Needed _to be here. The image of pulling away cracked slabs of stone to find the charred remains of a fallen brother flashed across his mind, and he stood very suddenly.

He knew Ada was watching as he moved to the kitchen, and as he pulled the Maker's Mark from a high cupboard, she asked very carefully, "You all right, baby?"

"Fine," he said stiffly, sloppily pouring a shot, dark amber spilling over the top and onto the counter. He knocked it back quickly, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth with a grimace. God, that shit burned good.

"Did your meeting with Brendan go okay?" She stood, not fooled in the least by his awful attempt to mask clear torment. Tommy could feel his annoyance raising another level. She was going to try to talk about it.

"Yep," he announced, voice louder than he expected it to be.

"Is he going to go with you?"

"Yeah." She was in the kitchen now, leaning against the frame of the entrance. _Dog tags in the sand, they belonged to Manny. Where was Manny? _Tommy downed another shot, and shut his eyes tight. He couldn't look at her.

"What's wrong?" her voice was hard in a demand.

He clutched the side of the counter, white-knuckled, staring down into the stainless-steel tub of the sink. Figure it out, he willed her. _Figure it out, because I can't say it_. What would he say? How would he say it? He couldn't. There was no way. Those were his experiences, his living nightmares, his burdens. It would be a crime to justify sharing that with someone else. And how could he say that he was suffering, without sounding like a fool? Voicing his thoughts felt like a physical impossibility. This wasn't anything new. They've done this all before. She needed to figure it out, so she could understand, and know what to do.

And she did. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her staring at him, searching for the clues. It's what she was trained to do. It wasn't just the physical hints, either. She searched all around her, eyes darting over surfaces and objects. Finally, they landed on the television, as Bill Maher was wrapping up the week's New Rules. And it must've clicked. Maybe something she saw on the news that week, or online, that she knew the host would have wanted to discuss on his show. She kept up with that kind of shit. "Oh…" she breathed, and Tommy turned his head ever so slightly, glancing over his shoulder at her. "Tommy," she said, and the careful, quiet tenderness in her voice sickened him. That wasn't her. Ada didn't do that. She wasn't supposed to give him some sort of fucking shoulder to cry on, she was supposed to drag him out of this mess.

"Don't," he snapped harshly, as she tried to reach for him. He glanced over at her again, and her eyebrows were furrowed in a mixture of emotion.

"Tommy, I know it's hard to remember, but that doesn't give you the right to take your anger out on me." He bit his tongue, eyes down as he prepared for another chastising, readying himself to be sent off. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you where I was going. And I'm sorry I wasn't here. I should've called. I tried to beat you back, I thought you'd stay longer in Philly than you did. I'm sorry."

He looked up at her. An apology? What the fuck was he supposed to do with an apology? He needed direction, distraction, something to calm the fire. She knew how to deal with this. She needed to tell him what to do.

Instead, she stepped forward, swiping the whiskey off the counter. "If you think drinking it away isn't just going to bring it all right back," she said, turning on her heel, "then you're sorely fucking mistaken. I'm going to bed."

Ada disappeared around the corner, and Tommy stared at the empty space she had just occupied. He didn't understand what was happening. She always fixed him straight. She always, _always _found a way to make the shit in his head go away. In six months, she never, not once, walked away from him when he needed her.

He began to wonder if he had done something terribly wrong. But he didn't think so. Ada was tougher than that. She knew he was fucked in the head, and she knew not to take his shit personally. It was just reactionary; there was no substance to it. He couldn't help when he remembered, and he couldn't help when he got angry. She knew that, and wasn't afraid to let him know when he was crossing the line.

But she walked away. Just like that. He'd expected her to take control of the situation; assure him with the use of a bunch of clinical vocabulary that what he was feeling was normal, that it was okay to feel like that and that he wasn't some fucking loony, and then send him off to do something that would divert his attention until his mind quieted and the fire burned out. But she didn't do any of that. She walked away, like she was giving up on him.

His anger peaked, and he picked up the empty shot glass still resting on the counter, throwing it into the opposite wall. The delicate object shattered upon impact, sending shards of glass scattering over the hardwood. Sharp, staccato breaths were inhaled and exhaled through the nose as he eyed the destruction.

_What am I doing?_ The thought came to him after a long stretch of time. His fury faded as his shame grew, and he sniffed, stepping forward to see how far the shards of glass had landed.

He was not her responsibility. He was not dependent on her. She did not have to be there every time he needed her. He should know how to tame the fire by now. She'd shown him plenty of times, plenty of different ways. He did not need her there to guide him through it every single time.

Tommy grabbed a pan and duster from the closet to his left, and knelt down to begin sweeping up the glass. He felt like a fool. Even though that was what he'd been trying to avoid all along, by maintaining his silence. Why couldn't he ever think, react like a normal person? A normal person would have accepted her kindness and emotional support. Instead, he needed her to play the part of the impersonal professional in times like this. So it didn't feel like a charity, but rather she was just doing her job. God, he really was just like all the other needy fucks. Only disguised as a lover. It wasn't fair to her.

When the floor was clear, so was his mind. Free of any thought other than getting upstairs to be with her. He didn't care if she was asleep. He didn't care if she was mad at him. He just wanted to feel her next to him. Maybe she'd somehow understand, even in sleep, just how much she meant to him. But not as a doctor. As a woman. He hoped she knew. He hoped he could get that much across to her.

Tommy paced from the kitchen to the living room, turning off all the lights, and the television, then crossed over to jog up the stairs. Their bedroom door was cracked open, and so he pushed on it lightly, peeking inside. From the dim lighting of the street outside, he could see her, back turned toward him, head barely protruding out of the top of the blankets.

With a small sigh, he stepped inside, quietly beginning to remove his clothes. He slid between the sheets as carefully as he could, and kept sliding until he touched flesh. Tommy relaxed into her, relishing in her soft warmth. He kissed her shoulder lightly, trailing his fingertips down the curves of her side and over her stomach, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her in tight.

Ada turned over then and found his lips in the darkness, capturing them with a soft moan. He held her to him for dear life, finding it almost painful to kiss her back. His throat tightened unintentionally, and he broke the kiss to control his breathing. He could feel it coming. She probably did, too, because she sat up slightly, and lowered his head to her chest. Tommy clung to her. He was probably suffocating her in his grip, crushing her, but if he was, she didn't let it show.

She cradled his head and rubbed his back. This beautiful, delicate little creature. Her kindness was agonizing. Her gentleness tortured him. He wanted the tough Ada. The one that set him straight without playing the funny games. But he let it continue. His breaths shook, and they hitched with the effort to keep silent. His eyes stung and blurred. He did not deserve this compassion, when he did not know how to return it. He'd traded in his compassion for combat a long time ago.

She hadn't walked away from him. Not really. And she definitely hadn't given up on him. She'd done nothing. But by doing nothing, she'd done something. She'd made him realize that it was possible. It was possible for him to find his own way out of the darkness.

That alone was more terrifying than anything he could've ever imagined.

* * *

_"My character lives and breathes fighting and war, and drama." – Tom Hardy, Warrior interview with AMC._

_Credit must be given where credit is most definitely due. For the curious hearts out there, this chapter was inspired by, and written to the tune of "_Eli, Eli (A Walk to Caesarea) by Sophie Milman". _Also, the title of the chapter was used from the spoken word poem _'Wings II' by Alysia Harris and Joshua Bennett. _Both beautiful pieces of art that could bring a grown man to tears._

_My god, this chapter took a lot of guts to write. If it was confusing to read, remember that we were diving inside a mind at war, in more ways than one. Give it some time, and thought. I hope most of you read these little tidbits at the end, because I have something very important to ask all of you. This story is about to take a turn, where Tommy's character will be tested. But before that happens and we take that leap, I need to figure out how to properly go about it. And so I ask you this:_

_What is it about Tommy Conlon's character that draws you to him? What stands out to you? What are your hopes for the man? What do you think he has earned in his life (they may have not yet happened, but you think they should), but what do you think it is going to take for him to get there?_

_Even if you can only answer part of that, it would be greatly appreciated. Every single thought counts, and will be taken into strong consideration. I know the Tommy that I see. I want to try to understand the Tommy that you see as well, so we can all do him the justice he deserves within this story. I love you all. Thanks so much for reading, and I look forward to hearing what you have to say. :)_


	10. Saying Goodbye

**Coming Home**

_-It's Not Goodbye, It's Fuck You Later-_

When saying goodbye, some men give their woman a long kiss, a tight hug, and whisper sweet words of return into their ear. Some give a peck on the cheek, and promise to call. Others leave notes. Some leave nothing.

Tommy Conlon leaves a want for quick return. He rips the longing sadness and disappointment from a lover too proud to admit she'll miss him, and replaces it with a burning desire, a hum of pleasure that will leave a dull ache throbbing throughout her body until he can return to finish what he started. He marks his territory, though nobody but him will ever see them, with bruises along her inner thighs and hips, dark spots low on her chest, between her breasts, spelling out in a coded language only he can read: _mine. _When he is gone, there will be no sadness, no reason to fret or over-think about what he could be doing in the city of indescribable joy and unutterable agony. When she sees him fight on the television, she will be reminded with every kick, every punch, every throw to the ground that the beast she is watching dominate his opponent is hers. And when he returns with his victory, that animalistic triumph will translate into inexpressible pleasure so heightened she'll beg God to bring her back down to Earth.

It started over a morning cup of coffee on the couch, and a small sigh coupled with a side-glance that said _damn, I wish I could go._ Tommy took his eyes off the Ridley Scott movie they were only half paying attention to, and extended his arm across the back of the couch to pinch the clip and free her hair from its twist. She'd recently layered it, subtle highlights of a lighter shade streaked throughout; a change for the onset of the spring season. He ran his fingers easily through the length, sliding his fingertips through to the ends, and watching the small strands fall like swinging ropes back into the tresses.

Ada pretended to remain interested in the movie, but he knew that she saw his attention was completely on her now. She wanted to return that attention, but should she do that, the risk of whiny sentiment was high. She missed him already, and he wasn't even gone yet. The idea of sleeping alone the next three nights was unappealing at best. She knew that it was important for him to go, and that by not attending this fight, she'd be able to make the future ones leading to the Sparta tournament. This particular fight was worth a good chunk of change, and it was an opportunity to spend a long weekend with his brother. She knew how important that was for him.

But damn, she'd miss him.

Tommy knew she'd sit there the rest of the morning, feigning strength and indifference, if he did not do something about it. He didn't want her to miss him. He didn't want her to worry about him, the fight, the city. She'd researched the guy he was fighting this time, and it left in her an annoying trepidation. She didn't say anything about it, but he could see it in the way she silenced, a tremble in her voice and a falter in her gaze when she made her attempt to change the subject. He didn't think she had any fear that he would lose. But she certainly didn't want him to be injured two-thousand miles away from home, where she couldn't take care of him.

Ada was a good girl; he swore to himself that he wouldn't ever give her a reason to regret her absence.

He stroked his fingers down her scalp to her neck, where he hooked them and drew her in, leaning forward to meet his pull of her halfway. Her kiss was desperate, pleading _please don't say anything_. She just wasn't one of those women to make a fool out of herself with her emotions. It was embarrassing for her to feel the condensing pressure in the hollow of her chest at the thought of his absence. She was ashamed to seem so feeble. He didn't speak a word.

The couch could not satisfy their range of motion, and soon they fell to the floor, hastily tugging clothes from their bodies, feeling the scratch of stiff carpet at their backs, theirs palms, their knees as they shuffled in a fight for dominance. She wasn't winning it. Not today.

Tommy trapped her hands in a tight grip over her head as he stuffed his fingers between her legs, diving into her dewy warmth, and even found himself shuddering in his own pulse of pleasure as she swallowed a soft groan in the crook of his neck. He could feel her wrists shifting in his hand as she struggled to free herself. Not gonna happen. He dipped his head low to nip and suck at the valley of skin between her breasts, occasionally trailing his tongue up the curve to devote his attention to the tender pink tips that hardened in response to his touch.

He could feel himself aching, throbbing, unable to withstand his own delay as Ada writhed and moaned beneath him. He leaned on one elbow, poking his head up as he sped up the steady plunge of his fingers into her core. One look at her face though, flushed and blazing with ecstasy, and he couldn't take it anymore. He had to join her.

Tommy withdrew his fingers from her warmth, running them up the soft crevice of flesh to distribute the wetness thick on his skin. He then brought them up to his mouth in a quick effort to clean them of the excess sticky dew, and to taste her, sweet as honey, salty as tears. In a fluid motion, he'd angled himself and plunged inside her. Not stopping to appreciate that initial sensation of filling her. Not hesitating for a lingering kiss before continuing. Not gradually increasing his momentum and speed. He attacked her at full force; unmerciful, unrelenting thrusts that penetrated walls and expanded muscles she didn't even know she had.

In his distracted haze of pleasure, Ada managed to free herself from his grasp, wrapping her arms and legs tight around his back, pulling him closer to her still, encouraging him to continue his viciously rapturous assault.

Tommy struggled to pull her thighs away from him, pushing her left down into the ground beside him, leaving her legs spread at a gloriously obtuse angle, fingertips dug deeply into the tender muscle on the inner stretch to keep her firmly in position. She longed to be on top, pleaded for it. She wanted to work him at her own rhythm, his body free to do with it as she pleased. When she was on top, he could penetrate her to such depths she'd cry out in pain shrouded in pleasure. They had the tendency to both lose control too quickly when he let her take the reins. He couldn't have that. He had to make this last. He had three days to make this last.

The carpet was beginning to rub the skin right off his knees and elbows, and he winced as the annoying burn only increased to a distracting blaze. _The bed. Get to the bed. _Without a word, he slid his arms under her shoulders, bending back into a kneel and bringing her with him. He cradled his other arm under her buttocks, holding her in place as he brought a knee up and pushed himself into a standing position. He nudged at her jaw line with his mouth and nose until he could capture her in a heated kiss, tackling tongues, teeth roughly grazing the plump bulge of his lips as he stumbled blindly over to the stairs.

She began to move in his arms, knowing she was safe to do so in his sturdy grasp. She could climb all over him like a jungle gym if she wanted to, and he would stand still in any position, unwavering under her weight and movement. But as she began to move her hips in a circular motion, creating a friction in their connection that brought a new wave of ecstasy mid-step, Tommy could feel his body giving way. As he began to climb the stairs slowly, step by step, she grasped his shoulders and gave a small bounce. He groaned, squeezing her backside roughly. Enjoying his response, she gave another, and then another.

Halfway up the steps, his knees buckled. He couldn't do it. No way, he couldn't make it. It was too far. He needed her _now. _He knelt down in an awkward position on a step beneath her, laying her at an angle. His shins pressed uncomfortably into the dull edges of the hardwood steps, and it must have been ten times worse against Ada's neck and back. But if it was, she didn't show it. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying it even, the increased pleasure in dull pain.

Tommy resumed his rhythm, grasping her hip with one hand and shoulder in the other, using them to drive her down onto him with forceful velocity. As their bodies clapped together, he could feel it. Starting as a wave of electricity surging from his head to his lower abdomen, where it sparked a low-burning flame. He closed his eyes, burying himself into Ada's chest as he encouraged the flame to burn brighter, while willing it to fade to smoke. A familiar, friendly dilemma. He wasn't ready for it to end, but _god, _did he welcome release. There wasn't anything better than that. Nothing in the world could replace the feeling of letting himself go in such entirety. The white light, the rush of bliss, the taste of paradise. That only happened inside Ada.

The flame was burning steady, he could see it burning, could _feel _it burning. Suddenly, a burst of light that shook and jerked his body, and he moaned lowly into her skin as he paused for a moment to embrace the pure ecstasy pounding through him like the unrelenting swells of a tsunami. It was a heavy load, and he could feel it flow from him with each pulse, filling her with his fluid and his seed and for a moment all he could think was that _this _is the meaning of life.

But as the rush faded, he locked his muscles and continued motion, ignoring the aching sensitivity of his cock as he continued to thrust violently inside her, walls so tight, so wet with the combination of their fluid, it was just short of torture for him to think he'd have to live without it for almost three days. She was so close. _So _close. Gasping, moaning, begging him _please, oh god please_. Almost there. He could feel her clenching tighter around him, feel her breasts press taut against him as her back began to arch, body stiffening.

So he pulled out.

Such a cruel thing to do, and she looked ready to cry at his premature and unexpected disappearance. But it was necessary. She was going to hate him for it, and he would be punished severely. It would be worth it. He left her swinging in a teetering balance, one foot hanging off the edge of the cliff when she'd been so ready, so willing, just begging to fall to a blissful end. All she needed was a little push.

He wouldn't give it to her. And she wouldn't give it to herself either, because they both knew what waited on the other end if she soldiered up and endured.

He'd left her on the brink of sweet liberation. Tension maxed and ready for release. The sensation would fade. The burning pulse in her lower abdomen, the dizziness, the strange equilibrium in her lungs, seemingly unable to take in any more air, yet unable to expel air at the same time. Yes, she would no longer feel it after long. But it wasn't going anywhere.

That tension would only build as the weekend progressed. It would eat at her, slowly, subconsciously. And when she watched his fight, she would wish to herself, maybe without even realizing it, that he would get his ass kicked for enacting such cruel and unusual punishment on her. She was unsatisfied. It would drive her crazy. It would drive anyone crazy, or at least those who knew better.

By the time he came home, that tension will have built to an unbearable intensity. And he was going to feel it. She would let him have it, let him know exactly what he put her through. It would be painful. It would be agonizing. He'd throw it right back at her. And that frustrated tension would slowly translate to sexual energy. They'd leave each other in ruins.

It would be worth it. _God_, it would be worth it. He knew it. So did she, though she would never admit it.

Ada didn't talk to him as they waited for Brendan to arrive. She was mad as hell. Selfish, is what he was. He's going off to vacation in Las Vegas for the weekend, and she has to stay home so she can _work_, and save her vacation days to be spent attending _his _future fights. The least he could have done was get her off.

Tommy let her sulk. Sly bastard knew exactly what he was doing. He thought he was so clever, but she was onto him. She knew a little something about the psychology of human sexuality. Winding her tight like a spring, so she'd be sent spiraling when he returned to release her from her holds. He was just looking for some good victory sex. Selfish asshole.

But it would be good sex.

It was nearing two hours of silence, Ada fuming, Tommy impassive. They redressed and returned to the couch. She huddled up at one corner, all but clutching and sinking into the arm. He ignored her desire to keep her distance, throwing a pillow at her ass and feet, falling back into it and stretched out comfortably along the cushions. He flipped through channels as she sipped at cold coffee, and eventually the doorbell rang.

Before Ada even had time to move, Tommy had swung his legs over, and was on his feet, shuffling over to the door as he rubbed the back of his neck. She watched as he opened the door, and could immediately hear an enthusiastic greeting from Brendan. Tommy stepped aside to let him in, and the tall, angular redhead came into her line of vision. The two brothers hesitated for a moment, as though they were mentally debating what move they should make next.

Slowly, awkwardly, they stepped toward each other, angled their arms, and touched chests, crossing their arms over each other to give a couple swift pats on the back. It was gloriously uncomfortable, but as far as she knew it was the first physical contact the brothers have had like that in the time she'd known Tommy. For a moment, she completely forgot why she was angry with the man, and felt nothing but elation for his courage to take such a huge step with his brother. Could feel herself smiling as they took a step back and Brendan looked around, commenting on how nice the place looked.

But then Tommy led his brother into the living room, and her eyes landed on his face, lips impossibly swollen from her savage attacks earlier, and she remembered.

"Hey Ada, how you been?" Brendan asked, smile wide on his face as he greeted her.

"I've been good," she answered lightly, returning his smile as she stood from the couch to shake his hand. "How about you?"

"Same as ever," he laughed. "Tess asks about you from time to time. I hope you don't mind that I gave her your work email."

"Oh, by all means," she said politely. "I'd love to hear from her."

"Good." Brendan looked around again, grin still plastered on his face. He was so happy to be there. So excited for the weekend, hope practically a shining vision in the form of a glowing halo around his head. Nervousness twitched the corners of his mouth, but he wasn't letting it dictate his outlook. He was with his baby brother. That's all that mattered. "We should go soon, man," he said after a long pause, turning to Tommy. "It's Spring Break season, and PIT is going to be ugly."

"Yeah, no problem," Tommy said. The two men turned to Ada.

"Well, it's good to see you again Brendan," she said. "Tell Tess I look forward to an email from her."

"I will."

"I want the two of you to be safe, and behave." She sent a dramatic glare between the two men, and Brendan laughed.

"I promise we'll come back alive and STD-free," he said.

"And unscathed?"

"Can't promise that."

Brendan said a final goodbye and left Tommy to say his. Ada stood with her arms crossed over her chest, anger burning in the pit of her stomach, dueling with the sharp sadness in her chest that it was time for him to leave. Tommy watched her for a moment, and then stepped over, wide shoulders swaying as he dipped his head low to try to catch her eyes. He pressed his lips to her cheek, and though she turned away from the touch, she couldn't avoid it. He grasped her chin lightly, and turned her face toward his. He leaned back to regard her, gray eyes piercing until she could no longer help but look up into them. At that moment he dipped again, and caught her in a kiss that she didn't fight.

Ada wrapped her arms around his ribs in a tight hug and buried her face into the hard muscle of his chest. She felt like a fool. He would only be gone for the weekend! She was acting ridiculous. But she didn't care enough at that point. It was a _long _weekend. And that was a _long_ time, when they spent every moment they could together.

Tommy draped his arms loosely over her shoulders, the weight of them relaxing and pressing down into her. "Love you," he mumbled quietly into the top of her head.

"I love you too," she conceded with a sigh.

They broke their embrace then, and with another quick kiss to the temple he walked away, and slipped into the running shoes at the edge of the carpet. He picked up the duffel bag she'd been skillfully ignoring and swung it over his shoulder, then stepped over to the door. Tommy paused, one hand on the knob as he stopped to take one last lingering look at her over his shoulder at her. Then he turned away, and turned the knob.

When the door closed, her heart dropped, and Ada had never been so relieved in her life to know that Tommy was no longer a Marine.

* * *

_Oh wow, thank you guys so much for the lengthy and detailed answers to my questions in the previous chapter. So beautiful, so insightful, and so greatly appreciated. Feel free to throw in your opinions and personal insights and ideas at your leisure any time, any chapter. They are amazing to read! Bravo team, you've thoroughly inspired me :)_

_For you fans out there, if you venture on over, you'll notice there's a Lawless category up now. I take great pride in saying I pioneered that shit. ;) The category, at least. I think there was an interpretation up in the miscellaneous for a while. Either way, check it out if you're interested, and don't fret! This story will continue strong and steady, just as my love for Tom Hardy. _

_Can't wait to hear what you think about this chapter!_


	11. The Awakening

**Coming Home**

_-"So Much the Worse For Me That I Am Strong"-_

_Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights_

The roaring crowd was little more than buzzing in his ears. Tommy hopped from side to side, keeping light on his feet. Breathing deep; in through the nose, out through the mouth. He shook his limbs loose and rolled his neck. The lights cut, and the buzzing grew to an annoyingly loud volume. Brendan was standing right outside the cage, and his mouth was moving, but Tommy ignored him, focusing in on the form of his opposition striding out of the tunnel under spotlight.

They were going to make him work for this one.

If he hadn't been at the weigh-in, he would seriously be questioning whether this guy was really a middleweight. People questioned _his _weight, and this guy had a good head on him. His chest and arms weren't all that impressive, but his legs were massive. He'd be steady as a lead weight and have the power of a bull behind his kicks.

Tommy sniffed and swung his arms, stretching his fingers inside the gloves as he watched the guy jog up into the cage, dark face gleaming with a fresh layer of Vaseline. He was going to be relying on those legs. Tommy had to trap him quick, and go right for the head.

The referee called them forward, and the three men ducked heads. Rules were being mumbled into their ear, but Tommy was focused on another sound. A low, airy rumble from somewhere close. The guy's lips were tightened and pulled back in a snarl. Fucker was growling. Okay. Tommy touched fists with the guy and strode back to his side of the cage. He turned around, and took one step forward, shifting his weight from foot to foot, raised his arms, and spat as he eyed his target. Dude wanted to act like a wild animal, that's exactly how Tommy would treat him.

He nodded when the referee pointed at him, and waited for the "fight!" When it came, the guy charged him with speed he hadn't seen before. Tommy had just enough time to block a throw to his head, when the guy brought his leg up and pumped, sending a kick right into his stomach that knocked him back into the fence and left him breathless. Tommy bent and wheezed and in the next second felt an elbow brought down on his shoulder.

Fuck, that kick hurt. But Ada had sharper elbows than this guy. His suspicions had been correct. Tommy straightened and caught the fist sent toward him, offering a straight jab into the center of his face, and exhaled at the sound of a satisfying groan of pain. Wasn't a winning move, but it was punishment for annoying the hell out of him.

The guy hadn't been expecting it either. The sudden blood and sharp pain made him hesitate, and Tommy took that window to jab his kidney, then backhand him with a force that sent him stumbling. He had extended an arm to catch his balance, so Tommy dove right in, sending him sprawling, the impact shaking the floor. He squeezed his knees tight against the guy's hips. The breath was knocked from him, and Tommy wasn't going to give him a chance to get it back, either. He hooked his arms around the guy's shoulders and lifted, sending him back to the floor with a rattling force. He did it again, and again until he could hear the guy gasping, could feel him slowly begin to stop struggling underneath him. Tommy was ready to drop him and knock him to hell and finish this fight, but a horn blew in the distance, and the referee gripped him, pushing him up and away.

Tommy hissed through his mouthguard, flinging himself away and back to his corner. He breathed deeply, following a mental rhythm, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Sweat dribbled down his nose and cheeks in an annoying tickle, and he wiped his face with a hand to rid the sensation. He began to take three steps one direction, three steps in the other to keep himself moving, and keep the blood flowing, but suddenly Brendan was in the cage, calling him over. God, what was he doing here? Tommy stomped over to him, only to be forced down onto a stool. He pushed away the water bottle offered to him, glaring over the shoulder of his brother toward his opposition.

"That jab to the face, that was good. Really good," Brendan was speaking quickly, knelt before him. Tommy gave a brief glance toward him. "He wasn't expecting that. When they study you, they aren't expecting calculated movement. When you get back out there, narrow your swings. Go for the center. Aim high, and watch those legs."

Tommy pushed past Brendan as the referee called them to position, and at his signal he was off again. The guy must've gotten a good pump-up by his coach, because he was back and rejuvenated with energy. And he was angry. But he would never be as angry as Tommy was.

Tommy blocked a kick, and when shin connected with his forearm, the whole area went numb with a pain that shot up his arm and left his fingers tingling. He hissed, slapping a punch away and promised serious retribution if his arm was even remotely damaged. So much as a crack or chip in the bone, and he was a dead man. Tommy charged, offering a high swing that the guy would push away, so he could come in low with a blow to the side. He followed it up with a punch to the side of the head from the same hand, and since he had the momentum, he threw one more at his jaw.

The guy ripped himself away, staggered for a moment, then stilled. Tommy eased his weight from one foot to the other, his fists up, watching and waiting for any sign of the next move. The guy lifted his arms to chest level, and snarled, gleaming white teeth against coffee-colored skin, stepped forward, and jutted his leg out.

He saw it coming. But then again, he didn't. Only felt the force of flesh and bone connecting with the side of his skull, and for a moment the whole world fell off its axis. Somewhere inside him said that he fell, but he was sure it had been the world that had tilted. How could he have fallen, and not been aware? He was still awake. He knew what was happening. He was at the Mandalay Bay, in Las Vegas, in the cage, in the middle of a fight.

When Tommy's eyes focused, all he saw was white, and he cursed, quickly scrambling to make known that the fucker wasn't going to get a knockout that easy. Those fucking head kicks, they got him almost every time. It's the one thing he neglected to work on, and of course it was proving to be his greatest weakness.

But he gained the upper hand in the element of surprise, with his quick recovery followed by an even quicker takedown. Tommy swung his leg out and caught the bastard sideways, low on his ankle. He was dizzy, brain jumbled and confused, and his ears rang. But he wasted no time in trapping the guy underneath him. He could feel himself seething, a white-hot rage dictating his movement as it coursed through his limbs. But with every blow he sent down to the body struggling underneath him, he grew calmer.

_Swing, and keep swinging until they pull me off him_. They'll know when the guy has had enough. But he wasn't getting out of this one, not this time. He'd be damned if they took this fight into a third round. His attempts to escape Tommy were feeble and pathetic. His face was a bloody mess from his nose, which Tommy made sure to strike again in punishment for the head kick. When the guy stopped struggling altogether, he gave three hits in a quick succession to the side of the head, before he felt the hands of the referee on his shoulders and chest.

Tommy backed away and ripped the mouthguard from his teeth, quickly assessing his damage before medics stormed inside the cage. Satisfied, he spun around and forced the cage door open, jogging down the steps, and headed back to the little room set up for event guests. The cement floor was cold on his feet, and he could feel people reaching out to touch him as he passed, but he kept his eyes to the ground.

That fucking head kick! Almost cost him the fight. Ada would be pissed. Would ask him how he let the guy get away with that, then harass him until he agreed to be examined for a concussion. But then he'd remind her that he won, and that he would be home the next day. He was sure the conversation would take a more amusing turn after that, knowing exactly what kind of state he left her in.

Tommy fought back a smirk as he elbowed past reporters into the open door security held for him. He heard the door close with a slam behind him, could hear the muffled voices of anxious, disgruntled media representatives directly outside. He inhaled deeply, grabbing a towel off a chair to wipe his face and hair. Tommy debated showering first, but his desire to hear his woman's voice was overpowering. As he chugged staccato sips from a water bottle, he dug through his duffel bag in search of the mobile, lifting it out and flipping it open.

Missed call after missed call glowed on the screen, followed by voicemail after voicemail. He smiled to himself, figuring she'd begun her wrath early. Her irritated, begrudging congratulations. He could picture her face, what it must've looked like when he allowed the guy those few good kicks. But what it also must've looked like when he stood with another victory and stormed out of the cage, knowing that he would be calling her soon. She was trying to beat him to it.

But these calls weren't only coming after the fight, they were during. Tommy scrolled through them, eyebrows furrowing with each progressively earlier time. She called twice before the fight even began.

Tommy glanced up as the door open and Brendan walked in, quickly shutting the door behind him. He was beaming as he strode over and embraced his brother, "Great job, man," he said, clapping Tommy on the back. "Really great, congratulations."

"Yeah," Tommy breathed, scrolling back up the voicemails to the last one, received only five minutes ago.

"Ada call?"

"Yeah, a bunch." He put the phone to his ear, and waited for the ring.

Brendan hesitated, taking a step back to observe his brother's quiet confusion. "Everything all right, you think?"

"I don't know." Tommy couldn't hear any ringing. He brought the phone down to find the call had failed. "Shit service down here. I'm gonna go see what's up."

It was probably nothing. God, he hoped it was nothing. But he didn't know how many times he had called Pilar after Manny was killed, desperate to get her on the other end. He wanted to, _had _to let her know. Had to be the one to tell her, before the military did. She deserved to know, from someone who loved Manny as much as she did. She deserved that support. Even if he couldn't be there in person, he could give her more than any officer at the door could. When it was something so important, there was no end of lengths he would go to get a hold of the person in mind. He expected Ada to be of similar manner.

Tommy ducked his head and pushed past the people outside the door, hurrying away from them before they could be motivated to follow him. He dodged passersby and made a beeline for the door beneath a glowing exit sign. Fuck if he knew where he was. It looked like some sort of loading dock. But he was outside, and it was quiet, and it gave him service. His fingers fumbled as he pushed the buttons that would reconnect him with Ada, and brought the phone back up to his ear.

She answered on the first ring. "Baby? Baby, are you there? Can you hear me?"

Just barely. Wherever she was, it was loud. He could hear voices in the background. Phones ringing, the squeak of shuffling feet, an unidentifiable rattle. Her voice was just short of a shout, her tone level and authoritative. It did not waver, and there was no panic. Tommy felt himself relax a little. "Yeah, I can hear you," he said, raising his voice to make sure it was mutually received. "What's up, everything okay?"

"Baby, I'm at the hospital," she said, and there was an instant jerk inside him, a strange prickling, the beginnings of an awakening ache that he'd been sure he numbed himself to years ago. "Your father's had a heart attack."


	12. Decent Proposal

**Coming Home**

_"Someday we'll all fall down and weep, and we'll understand it all. All things."_

_-The Tree of Life-_

There was nothing remotely new about this. It was identical in any universe she chose to throw herself into. During her residency, it became a game. Who put their finger to their nose last? Who drew the shortest stick? Who had already done it twice this week; who hadn't done it at all? The sincerity at which a doctor passed a message along to an anxiously waiting family was feigned and miniscule, if it was present at all.

The scene was always the same, no matter the room, no matter the hospital, no matter what part of the world they happened to be in. The doctor assigned to pass along the status of a particular patient will walk down a linoleum-tiled hallway, steps muffled by the rubber soles of their tennis shoes. They practice their polite, informative smile along the way, if the news was good. A somber, tight-lipped expression of apologetic sympathy if the news was bad. It would only take a couple attempts to tap into either appearance. Practice has made perfect. As they contort their faces in concentration, they mumble simple phrases that explained complex diagnoses, and how they had gone about their attempts to treat the patient.

When they reach the waiting area, sometimes it is completely empty, and the doctor will feel relief for a moment. They can walk in, ask for a name, and since no one is there, no one will respond. That means that they can avoid speaking with the family, and return to another task. Sometimes the area is peppered with small clusters of families huddled together, speaking in low tones, holding hands, heads resting on the shoulder of their neighbor. Others sit alone, stalk-straight in their chairs, peering down at a magazine with an unfocused gaze. Some shift uncontrollably, wringing their hands together as their eyes jumped from one concentration to another in the surrounding environment.

All eyes will fall on the doctor as soon as at least one of them notices that he or she is approaching. Those eyes will reveal a vast array of emotion, from expectancy to anger, and the doctor will attempt to remember the name of the family they have to speak to. They announce the name, and wait for someone to respond. Usually one person stands at first, with a sharp inhale, as they wipe their hands on their pant legs, or clasp their hands together. Another person will follow the first, after some hesitancy. The doctor nods, going over their lines in their head one last time as they approach the family. Good news or bad, they tell the family to sit, and the doctor sits with them. Maybe in an open chair, or if there aren't any, at the edge of a small table.

The doctor introduces themselves first and foremost; their name, their title, their specialty. If the doctor was still officially a resident, they lied. After that, they get right down to it and break the news. Either the patient was fine, or they weren't. It was as simple as that. Either way, the family stopped listening after the initial news. The doctor will continue to provide detailed information about a particular procedure, condition, or any other relevant information regarding the status of the family's loved one. If the patient is fine, elation deafens the family to the doctor's words as they embrace each other, and accuse each other of foolishly second-guessing the health of their loved one. If there are complications and the news is grim, the family is dumbed and deafened by disbelief. It is no use for the doctor to speak at all, except to answer the half-hearted questions that flit across the jumbled minds of a family in shock.

Word must have traveled to the right ears that the woman representing the Conlon family was a colleague because the doctor that approached Ada cut the bullshit out of his act. He was maybe twenty years her senior, thick head of gray hair, skin like tanned leather, white coat over a dark blue button-down and khaki slacks. He told her exactly what she cared to know. Patrick Conlon would be fine. He suffered a major heart attack. They're sure it's coronary artery disease, and once the tests return positive they'll get him on a preventative treatment plan. They're keeping him at least four or five days. The rest of the details she could fill in herself.

Paddy Conlon was a stark statue laying at a tiny tilt in the stiff mechanical bed. Tubes extended from his arm and hooked to bags of fluids hanging directly above him, and a pulse oxygen monitor was clipped to his right index finger. Ada knocked lightly on the open door before slowly stepping inside, her heels echoing against the floor. Only Paddy's eyes moved to acknowledge her.

"Mr. Conlon," she said quietly, clasping her hands in front of her as she approached him. "Do you remember me?"

"Doctor," he grumbled with a small nod, voice like tires against gravel. "Tommy's girl."

"Yes," she said with a small smile, eyes flitting over the weathered face of the old man. "How are you feeling?"

"Been better," he responded, and she gave a light chuckle.

Ada turned to locate a chair, and pulled it to his bedside. "They told you? What happened, what you probably have?" she asked as she sat down.

"Yeah," he breathed, and then cleared his throat.

"Tommy and Brendan are flying back tomorrow. They'll be here in the late afternoon."

The old man's eyes captured hers in a gaze of inexpressible emotion at the mention of his sons. "Tommy," he croaked, his voice so hoarse she wondered if it pained him to talk. "Did he win?"

A soft smile broke on Ada's face, and she reached out to fold her hand over Paddy's, squeezing lightly. She was there, representing Tommy. Representing Brendan. No matter the past between the three men, they loved each other. They were family. She offered the remorseful man the gentle affection his sons couldn't give him. They probably never would. "Yes, he did," she said. That was all she could give him. She didn't know much else. Paddy sighed, resting his head back against the pillows. He shifted his hand so he could grasp hers as well.

"Way to go, Tommy," he mumbled, and a corner of his mouth turned up as he peaked over at her. "Why aren't you there with them?"

"Because I was needed here," Ada said, raising an eyebrow. They shared a chuckled at the fortunate coincidence. The hospital had called Tess in Philadelphia to inform her of the incident, as the Conlons were Paddy's emergency contact. In her confusion of how to appropriately go about the situation, Tess phoned Ada and Tommy's condo with the number Brendan kept on their refrigerator. Ada had just returned home from grocery shopping when she received the call. "I hope within the next few days, you'll take the liberty to add at least Tommy's information to your records. You could take the leap and include me as a personal physician."

"Yeah," Paddy agreed. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

A moment of silence passed between the doctor and the father, and Ada was sure their thoughts were running the same course. This incident, this reminder of mortality, what would this mean for the life of the father? What impact will this have on the relationship with his sons?

Ada brought her free hand up to rest over their gentle grasp, garnering his attention once more. "You know everything is going to change now." A guttural noise rose from somewhere in his chest and he gave a small nod as he considered this.

Since her troubles with Thanksgiving at the Conlons, she'd done an excellent job at locking her family back in their confines deep inside her mind. However, the return to a hospital released her brother and he danced around her thoughts each moment she remained there. It was not bitter, and it was not sad; only a reminder that he was gone and she had lost him to something that had been entirely out of everyone's hands. Nature was cruel and unpredictable, and its collective mutations uniquely designed for Micah did not map out a genetic code congruent with a long life. It provided an evanescent sense of comfort, as she sat with Paddy, to think of her brother. A lively, optimistic young man, even in those last days. He smiled more than anyone she'd ever known, and he made sure he said everything he would ever want her to know, should they have lived a complete life together. He was never bitter about his condition, nor saddened that it had the intention to cut his life short. Rather, he accepted that people lived and they died. He saw himself as a small part of something much bigger, and did not find personal offense in nature running its course.

He taught her how to be strong, and it was that strength that kept the memories light and the emotions humble while she waited for her new family to return home.

Ada rested her laptop on the table in front of her, standing and pacing from the couch to the kitchen to refill her coffee cup. She'd been living off the stuff since the early hours of the morning. Hadn't slept yet. She dove into work, scheduling treatment plans for her patients while simultaneously researching methods to aid Paddy in his recovery after he is to be released. Her head spun with exhaustion and excitement. Tommy would be home any moment. He'd walk through that door and be with her once again. And yet the first thing she'd have to do, instead of the heated, fantastical reunion they'd planned before he left, was sit him and his older brother down to relay him a piece of developing information she only recently received.

Paddy Conlon had another small spasm in his heart in the early hours of the morning. She left her contact information with his records before leaving the hospital the night before, should anything happen while she was gone. Ada found herself thankful to have done so. Paddy held on tight and pulled through, but it wasted him of effort and energy, and should it happen again the chances of his survival were grim. Doctors were now moving on from coronary artery disease and looking into cardiovascular disease. She remained hopeful that this would be his diagnosis. Paddy would die from this disease, but it was so common and so thoroughly researched that the right treatment plan could extend his life many more years.

Ada paused, her grip tight on the handle of the coffee pot as she listened closely for the faint hum of masculine tones outside. Her gaze flashed toward the door as she momentarily wished she hadn't turned the television up so loud, and her stomach gave a jerking flip at the turn of the lock. She returned the pot to the burner, wiping her hands eagerly on her jeans as she rushed out of the kitchen.

Tommy stepped through the door first, duffel bag hauled over his shoulder. He turned to make sure that Brendan was following close behind, and as the older brother stepped through the threshold, he was entirely forgotten. Tommy dropped the heavy bag in the hallway, eyes quickly fluttering over the room until they landed on the object of his search. Ada stood, one hand gingerly tracing the thin steel rod lining the back of one of the breakfast bar stools. A grin slowly began to spread on her face, turning her lips upward and revealing her beautiful set of whites, and he could feel himself mirroring the motion, with albeit a much less perfect smile.

But it was perfect to her. Ada gave a small shrug, and stepped forward, walking right into his arms and burying herself in the thick fabric of his black sweatshirt. This was home. Her home was home. The weight of his arms around her calmed the cacophony of emotions still buzzing from the aftermath of the unexpected events. The smell of him – bar soap and laundry detergent – filled her senses in a soothing aromatic therapy. Three days was far too long. Awful things happened when they were separated. She never wanted to be so far away from him for so long again.

"Missed you," she mumbled into his chest, and heard him give an airy snort as his lips remained pressed to the top of her head.

"Missed you, too." He lifted his head so she lifted hers as well, and when she looked up his eyes were narrowed in a soft gaze.

She wished they were alone. She wished Brendan wasn't standing in the foyer, politely directing his attention to his cell phone to allow them a private moment of reunion. She wished she didn't have to tell them the news of their father. She could not predict how they would react. Ada reached to press a kiss to his lips, and then another, reveling in this moment because she knew it would not last much longer. Slowly, begrudgingly she stepped away from him, brushing her hands down the cotton material along his torso. "I have something to tell you guys," she said, looking past Tommy to make sure she captured Brendan's attention. He looked up from his phone, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Let's come sit down."

She stepped into the role of the doctor, the transition natural and immediate, and the brothers knew it couldn't be good. Without a word, they followed her deeper into the living room, sitting stiffly at the edge of the couch as she took the chair adjacent to them. Ada crossed her legs and folded her hands together over her knee as she gave them a small smile. "First of all, I want you to know that your father will be okay. But last night, his heart experienced another small spasm, and it's leading us to believe that he has heart disease."

The brothers did not move. Frozen, they watched her with an identical expression, tight-lipped and unblinking as they waited for her to continue. She did: "Paddy will be able to tell us for sure when we visit him. The doctors will have already relayed this information to him. I'm sure you already know heart disease is extremely common. The right treatment and the right lifestyle choices can keep any symptoms of the disease at bay for…any inconceivable amount of time. It simply depends on his dedication to recovery, and his body's natural reactions."

Ada shifted her gaze from Tommy to Brendan, and back again. They stared without focus. Tommy chewed on his bottom lip. Brendan opened his mouth, and sucked in a breath, but the breath hitched in his throat, as though he caught himself in an attempt to speak before preparing anything to say. He allowed himself to collect his thoughts, and then asked, "So he's fine now, right?"

"Yes," she said with a sharp nod of affirmation. "The spasm took quite a bit out of him, and it's going to mean an elongated stay at the hospital. But he pulled through, and it sounds like he'll be all right."

"You think it's hereditary?" Brendan leaned forward a little, his brow creasing as he began to make a connection somewhere in his mind. "Rosie had a heart condition."

"It's entirely possible, but it's hard to say without taking a complete look at your family's medical history, from both sides. Poor diet and excessive alcohol use may very well have been contributing factors as well."

She didn't have to say it for the brothers to understand and acknowledge that Paddy's condition was more than likely brought about by a combination of the three. Perhaps the disease had been in hibernation all the years, and enough abuse had finally awakened it. Maybe it was abuse alone that had brought about the condition. But in Brendan's daughter there was a developing trend, and it was enough for Ada to look upon Tommy with gratitude for his dedication to leading a healthy lifestyle.

Ada took the lull in conversation to watch the quiet fighter. What would not be expressed with words could be found present in his body language. Tommy had sat back into the cushions of the couch, his gaze cast downward. An elbow rested on the arm of the couch, and he rubbed his chin at a slow pace back and forth across his fingers. His muscles were relaxed, and he appeared far calmer than she had expected him to, as though he had already accepted the situation and moved on from it.

Brendan was a bit more conflicted. No doubt thinking of his daughter, and whether little Rosie had inherited her condition from him. If his genetics had been the cause of her suffering so early on in life. Whether he was susceptible to a heart condition as well and should be tested, or if it had skipped a generation. His inner struggle was present in his hard stare and frequent shifting.

The roles reversed when they arrived at the hospital. The trip was quick because neither brother wanted to be there. Brendan wanted to return home to his family at a decent time. Tommy was hesitant to see his father for the first time since Thanksgiving. But Paddy was asleep when they arrived, and they stood silently in the doorway, staring down upon the form of the old man. He lay on his side, back turned to the door, sheet low on his body and hands cradled close to his face on the pillow. A precautionary oxygen mask was placed over his mouth and nose, administering a steady rhythm of clean, pure air with every hiss of the tank to lessen the work load on his heart.

"God damn it, Pop."

It was said after Ada had snatched the charts from their resting place in the cubby outside the door, to update herself and the brothers on Paddy's progress, and to confirm his diagnosis herself instead of tracking down a doctor assigned to him. It was said after Brendan parted ways with them in the hall to begin his journey home. "It was a great weekend, man, and congrats again on a great fight," he said. "Gimme a call sometime soon."

Ada figured they would be following Brendan out, but something drew Tommy back in to his father's room. She kept her distance as he took a few steps forward, pausing halfway between the bed and the door. His shoulders hunched as he watched his father sleep, and Ada imagined what his expression might look like if she could see it; pursed lips, a deep scowl. Steel gray eyes widened a bit as he observed and assessed the sight before him. He'd probably seen his father sleep before, and maybe he'd even seen him in states of weakness and vulnerablility at one time or another. But not like this; not under these circumstances.

When the words slipped from his mouth, a quiet mutter amongst the hiss and blow of the oxygen tank, her vision of him solidified. He brought a hand up to quickly rub across his face, and then turned without another word. Ada pushed herself off the doorframe, and led the way out.

"Are you hungry?" she asked in the elevator.

Tommy leaned against the wall and shifted his eyes down to her. "Yeah," he said.

"You want to go somewhere?" She plucked a stray hair from his sweatshirt.

"Naw." The elevator doors opened. "Let's go home."

It wasn't the reunion they had expected or planned for, but it didn't really matter anymore. They could've had a quiet meal over the kitchen counter. They could've discussed the weekend and the fight on the couch over a glass of wine. They could've even begun brainstorming ideas for the vacation they planned on taking with part of Tommy's winnings. It would've been just fine for either of them, as long as they did it together. Instead, when they returned to the dark interior of their condo, they ascended the stairs in a silent union, climbed into bed, and did not move for the rest of the night.

Tommy was unusually quiet. Ada didn't question the reason behind this. She already knew, and she understood. When he did finally speak, and she returned with a response, it would only be three words uttered between them, and it would be the last thing spoken between them before waking together to the first rays of a rising sun shining through their bedroom window.

Ada tried hard not to assess the situation, and just let it be. But her brain jogged through reason after reason to explain Tommy's behavior. Why he would approach such a loaded question and commitment in the time, place, and manner that he did.

She could've turned gears all night in her head, looking at it from all different angles, but psychoanalysis would only make the answer indefinitely more complicated than what it truly was.

Tommy was Tommy. He acknowledged time for what it was: imaginary. For what it mattered to him, it didn't exist. There wasn't any time, which was why it couldn't be wasted. He saw in his mother and in Manny how quickly and easily time could be taken away, and how fucking sad it was to have lived so incompletely with the time they'd been given. Manny tortured himself as an active duty soldier, to be away from his family so often for so long. His mother wasted her life clinging to the illusion that her husband was a good man who would right his wrongs before it was too late. But it was already too late, and it killed her. It wasn't worth it. And to be reminded of his own father's mortality, to see that his days were limited, that his life was coming to a close. Paddy Conlon would look back on his life with shame and regret for many of the things he'd done. For the time he'd wasted. Tommy knew he would look back, because he was looking back too.

He wouldn't be like that. He wouldn't be like his father, or his mother. He would do what Manny didn't have the chance to. In Ada, there was a love he'd never experienced before. A stability, a strength, a safe house. She loved him, regardless of what he'd done and what he'd been through, and who that made him today. She found the goodness in him that he could not find himself, and she brought it out with every kiss, every smile, every touch meant only for him. She loved him so much, and for that he loved her. She was the one fucking thing that made sense in his life. He didn't have to question it. Everything about their life together was right.

It was easy. He'd never known anything could be so easy before. His record showed that everything ended in death and disaster; the road to recovery was long and precipitous, without any promise of ever reaching the top of the hill. The thought of anything happening to Ada, to their life together, was enough to scare him shitless. He wouldn't fuck this up. Not this. He would be cautious and foreseeing, and give her everything his father never gave his mother, everything Manny could never give Pilar. He'd put Tess and Brendan to shame, but at the same time make them proud. And if anything ever happened to tear him and Ada apart, they'd be able to look back on their life together with integrity and satisfaction, knowing their relationship had been one of mutual love, trust, passion, and respect. Knowing they hadn't wasted a second of their time, hadn't taken a moment of it for granted.

He could feel every individual cell of her body touching his. An electric connection; a perfect mold of bodies. Her delicate fingers smoothed over the small curls on his chest. Her hair brushed over his arm when she shifted to rest her head at the base of his neck, below his shoulder. She gave a soft sigh, and he felt the words slip from his mouth, voicing truth and intention in a spontaneous moment of courage. "Marry me."

"Okay," she said.

* * *

_I am so unbelievably sorry for the wait on this chapter. NEVER again. So sorry._

_I wanted to share a little something with you real quick, and it is the quote at the beginning of the story. You may see it more than once, and in the Lawless story as well, if you are reading that one. This is the quote that directs my stories. You may interpret that as you please. But I look at it before I begin a chapter, I read it when I feel writer's block, and I read it again before I post a chapter. It is extremely powerful and influential to me, and I just wanted to share that little secret with you :) Don't know why! I just find it breathtakingly beautiful. _

_All right, I know there's quite a bit to sort through in this chapter. I hope it was worth the wait. Again, I'm so sorry it took so long. If you're enjoying the story, please show it some love! It definitely needs it. _


	13. Happy Birthday

**Coming Home**

_-A Long Time Coming-_

She loved him for his strength. Not just his physical strength, which served him as her defender and her shield. It was the strength that kept him docile when his demons threatened to lash out. The strength that kept his nose to the grindstone, working hard and striving towards a goal's end. The strength in his dedication, his loyalty, passion, commitment.

She loved him for the strength that allowed him to love her in return.

Ada eyed the diamond on her finger until its glimmer stung her eyes. She twisted the white-gold band and winced at the sound of a slamming door upstairs. Today, Tommy's demons were winning. She didn't know why; she couldn't decipher what set them loose. She hadn't been home soon enough to pull him out of his darkness, and so she sat herself in an armchair by the window and told herself to let him ride out the storm.

He'd been drinking, but even through the haze of rage and confusion he sought to relieve himself of whatever tormented him. She came home, and found him upstairs. He was on his hands and knees in the bathroom connected to their bedroom, red-faced and seething as he viciously attacked the tiles of the shower stall with a scrub brush and a rank concoction of cleaning chemicals. He was trying so hard to redirect that energy into something else, just like she taught him. At first glance, it was clear that something had rattled him to his core. Upon cautiously asking if he was all right to determine just how severely conflicted he was, his answer of "fuckin' awesome" had her deciding to relocate herself downstairs.

Her gaze drifted to the half a sip left in the Jack Daniels bottle on the coffee table. The worst thing he could've done was try to drink it away. She didn't know how many times she had to tell him that. But it had become a conditioned crutch in a deep-seated tradition. He probably took a few drinks without thinking too much of it. Then something pushed him over the edge, and alcohol cleverly disguised itself as necessary.

Another thump had her eyes shifting to the ceiling.

He needed to learn to pull himself out of these spells. He needed to learn what ritual worked best for him and set to it. She tried to see this as a professional, and keep herself firmply planted in her chair. But her medical opinion and her emotional opinion possessed conflicting ideologies.

Tommy needed to develop a system of regulating his stress, despite what memories traveled to the forefront of his mind. He needed to extinguish the small flames before they caught and spread into something much bigger and more unmanageable. But this was most critical when he was alone. He was no longer alone in this world. She was his partner, his wife-to-be; two halves of a whole. When he suffered, so did she. It was no longer her place to be a doctor; not unless she needed to be. It was now her job, her responsibility to be with him; to persist and hold steady by his side. Even in the darkness.

Ada looked at her ring again. She wasn't scared to marry this man. She trusted him to make her happy. She hoped Tommy would make peace with himself and his ghosts someday, and she hoped he could find that peace with her. She prayed his torment wouldn't give way to other disorders or illnesses later on in his life. Of course it wouldn't. It couldn't. He was too strong, too stubborn to let his past be what broke him in the end.

She needed to be with him.

Ada pushed herself out of her chair and crossed over to ascend the stairs. The light from the hall bathroom leaked from under the doorsill. She tapped lightly against the door. "Baby?" Her answer was the commencing sound of a gush of water hitting the floor of the tub steadily. She turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Tommy glanced over his shoulder, eyes set in a hard glare, lips puckered in a grimace as he rinsed out the tub. "You need something?"

"Yes, I'd like to know what happened today. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"That is golden bullshit, Tommy. Talk to me."

Tommy cut the flow of water. He gathered the cleaner, scrub brush, and dirtied rags, and stood from his crouching position. He avoided looking at her as he approached, and she stood back to allow him to pass. "Don't feel like talking."

"Why not?" She followed him as he began to jog down the stairs, and could see his shoulders flex as raised in a high shrug. "Will you stop for a second please, and talk to me like an adult?"

That did get him to stop walking, but for the wrong reasons. He turned around, expression impassive, but eyes wide with fury and annoyance. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he asked tensely. "I don't want to talk, Ada. Get over it."

"Seriously?" she trailed after him as began to walk again. "We don't have to talk, but at least tell me what the fuck is the matter so I can understand why you're slamming doors and scrubbing the bathroom floors at eight o'clock at night." He stepped into the kitchen and ripped open the door to the storage closet, beginning to shove the items in his arms onto shelves without acknowledging her comment. "Hey," she pushed her hand against the center of his back, "are you listening to me?"

Tommy threw the cleaner bottles to the ground, disrupting another shove as he turned with a threatening speed. "Stop."

"Please come sit down and talk to me."

"Fucking annoying," he spat as he side-stepped her and returned to the living room.

"Tommy-"

"I don't want to fucking talk, Ada!" he yelled suddenly, throwing his hands up as he froze in his step and spun to face her. "Jesus Christ, will you get that through your fucking skull!"

His outburst knocked the breath from her, and she was dumbed with fear for a moment as she watched the man she loved lash out with a ferocity she'd never seen before. The greys of his eyes had darkened with a primitive, wild excitement. She recognized that look. It was the same glare through which he weighed his opponents in the cage. At that moment, she was his enemy.

"Leave," she told him.

He shrunk back, stunned. "What?"

"I'm not leaving, because you'll destroy our fucking house," she said. "You're drunk, Tommy. And you're angry. So what you're going to do, is you're going to put your shoes on, you're going to get the fuck out of my house, and you're going to go for a little run. Okay?"

Ada bit her tongue to prevent herself from saying any more, and grabbed the car keys off the breakfast bar for safe measure as she decided to seek the safety of her office upstairs while he contemplated leaving.

Tommy suffered in silence in the presence of others. She knew that he tried to hold himself back even when alone, but sometimes that tightly wound anger uncoiled and he would act impulsively. He'd never been so vocal in his frustrations, and that worried her. Trying to further reason with him, and cool him down to get him to talk would only send him toppling over the edge.

There were the things he said openly in his passionate dislike for others, and then there was this. His defense mechanism. Angering the ones he loved to draw the attention away from his internal struggle.

He would stand downstairs long enough to wage war inside his head over whether doing as she told him to was a submission on his part. In the end, the muddled arguments drowned in extreme emotions would leave him restless and desiring to get out of the house anyway. Best-case scenario, he'd come back angry, but with a clearer head.

Worst-case scenario, he wouldn't come back at all.

When the front door finally slammed, Ada felt her face contort involuntarily with emotion. She tried to see him as a patient, but she no longer could. He was the person she was sharing her life with, her love, the most important person in her world. She wished she could treat him. She wished he'd accept her help. But even then, she knew her personal desire for his health would trump her medical patience. She just wanted him to be okay.

Ada allowed herself a half hour up in the office before she returned to the living room. She tread lightly over the floor and sat back stiffly against the couch. She surveyed the room, and then grabbed for the television remote.

After a while, she curled her legs up underneath her, and flipped through the channels.

Eventually she pulled the fleece throw off the back of the couch, and folded it over her legs.

Her body grew warm again, and as she settled on a movie she stretched out across the cushions.

Ada returned to consciousness with an internal jump at the sound of the front door opening. The numbers glowing on the cable box read 10:17. She craned her neck to watch as Tommy walked in, taking quick and heavy breaths. He paused to slip his shoes off, and then disappeared up the stairs.

She didn't hear anything for a long while, and she wondered if he'd gone to bed. She hoped he did. That the alcohol and the run spent all his energy and he passed out as soon as he hit the sheets. If that was the case, then she'd join him in bed, and they'd wake up together to a new day. He was always fine again in the morning.

She heard running water overhead, and settled back into the couch with a sigh.

A heavy thump rattled the walls, followed by a series of short, inaudible exclamations. Ada froze and listened closely, but only dialogue on the television, and behind it the running shower could be heard.

She needed to be with him. Her heart raced as she darted for the bedroom. She didn't have time to wonder or worry about what she would find on the other side as she crossed over and pushed the bathroom door open.

Tommy knelt hacking and heaving over the toilet bowl. He clung to the sides, and the blood smeared over the fingers of his right hand caught her attention immediately in her frantic search for self-harm. His tight grip flexed torn knuckles, and as another wave of nausea overcame him, Ada found herself dropping to her knees behind him.

He allowed her to touch him. To lightly smooth his hair, kiss his shoulder, rub her hand across his back as he gagged and moaned, the rancid and unbearable acid projecting from his stomach in fits. He coughed and spit, and eventually fell back onto his behind. Tommy sniffed as he wiped his eyes with his hand and his running nose with his shirt. He sat very still for a moment. When Ada reached for him again, he turned his head slightly and shrugged her off. She tried again, and he moved away from her.

She could not see his face, but she could hear his frequent sniffs and the hisses of his shallowing breath. Hands rested on the back of his head as his face fell between his knees. When Ada shifted to be close to him, he brought a hand down to shield his face, followed by the other. She heard the long, agonizing wheeze as all the air expelled from his lungs. The stress would contract his airway. Much like forcing a stiff joint to bend, Tommy would be fighting to relax that muscle and gain control of his breathing again. He would be fighting to gain control of himself.

"Breathe, Tommy," she said as she moved in front of him. Ada lifted his head, lightly pushing his hands away from his face. His eyes were wet and narrowed to slits, lips parted as he tried to suck in a breath. "You're okay. You're having a panic attack. Breathe, baby. You're all right."

He gasped, and exhaled quickly in another painful wheeze. His next breath came in an airy sob, which hitched in his throat. Ada pulled at him, but he fought her, bringing his hands back to his head. She pulled, and shifted, and pulled at him again. "Let it out, baby," she soothed. "Come on, let it out. Breathe."

She sat back and crossed her legs as he folded forward, and she guided his head into her lap. He crooked an arm to cover his face as he shook with uneven breaths in his struggle to remain silent. Ada soothed him with quiet words, trailing her fingers down his arm, over his back, and around again in a steady, subtle pattern. This was a long time coming.

She was proud of him.

Ada remained awake, holding him to her long after they moved to the comfort of their bed. Tommy fell into a troubled sleep, twitching and kicking, every once in a while mumbling incoherently. She ignored the numbing in her fingers and cradled his head close to her chest.

At midnight a light glowed from the bedside table. Ada turned her head to look at the source, and then carefully stretched out a hand to reach for the phone. Tommy's phone. She squinted against the glare of the backlight, allowing her eyes to adjust to the bright font.

A silent alert had scheduled itself to appear on the screen, a reminder that today, April 17th, is Manny Fernandez's 30th birthday.

* * *

_I'm sorry about the wait, you guys. I was hoping to have this out yesterday, but, you know...Election Day. 'Nuff said. _

_I wrote and re-wrote this chapter so many times, I don't even remember what it was originally going to be about. Not sure how I even feel about this version, but I think it was important to capture a moment like this. At least 3-4 times a year, Tommy would be struggling with this cacophony of emotions. On Manny and his mother's birthday, and on the anniversary of their deaths. I believe his emotions with Manny would be far more severe because of the presence of survivor's guilt, and because his death is still so fresh. Many other factors as well, but you get the essence of it. _

_Also, I'm testing the waters with an Eames story. It isn't my top priority because of this story and my Lawless story, but if you are a fan, I encourage you to check it out! See if the concept so far is intriguing, or...tickles your fancy? _

_All right. Let me know what you think about this (regrettably delayed) chapter! Offer your opinions, suggestions, things you might/would like to see in future chapters. This story needs love and I need inspiration. Inspire me, my wonderful muses :) Thank you for reading! My endless appreciation to you all!_

_P.S., is it weird that I wrote this chapter imagining Tommy with the big, burly beard Tom Hardy's been sporting in recent days? I didn't like it at first, but apparently it's growing on me! Ahhh, I love him. _


	14. Going Home

**Coming Home**

_-And the Light Shineth In the Darkness-_

Tommy sniffed, wiped his nose into the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He exhaled through his mouth, wrapping his arms tighter around Ada as he rested his chin on her shoulder. She relaxed into him further, and when he tilted his head forward to peek at her face, he saw that her eyes were closed.

They couldn't sleep, so they took a drive, ending up along the Ohio River water front. The sky was starless, the moon hidden by a midnight overcast. They perched on a grassy hill of an empty park and watched the city lights ripple in the water. The night was cold and growing colder. Tommy didn't mind it much, but he worried about Ada so he kept her tucked between his legs. She kept pretty quiet.

Tomorrow night they'd be in Seattle, and they weren't looking forward to it in the slightest.

It was his first preliminary fight for Sparta. May had rolled around, and he was as ready as he'd ever be. Four fights over six weeks was all he had to get through to qualify, and come July 4th weekend, it'd all be over. All the arrangements for this fight had been taken care of for them, which meant they didn't find out until a couple weeks ago that they'd be returning to the place Tommy hated to his core, and the place Ada could never truly bring herself to talk about.

He kept this fight to himself as much as he could. Mostly because he didn't want to tempt Brendan into tagging along. He intended to fight and then get himself and Ada on a flight home the very same night. He wouldn't think about Tacoma and where his mother lay buried. He wouldn't dare attempt the quick drive down to see her. He didn't have time for that anyway. Not when his goal was to be out of the northwest as quickly as possible.

Returning to Seattle was bothering Ada more than she'd ever let on. Tommy didn't bring it up, even though he knew he should. She had a little brother, and he was dead. Tommy didn't know how he died. Didn't even know his name. Had no idea where her parents fit into all this. He assumed he'd eventually learn about her past, but he never did. He let it go until recently, when she stopped sleeping, and stopped talking so much. She wore herself out pretty quickly, and it pissed him off a little when a prescription for Lunesta appeared on their nightstand one day. It was non-refillable, so he knew its use was temporary, and she clearly wasn't trying to hide it from him, but still. She didn't talk to him about it, didn't tell him anything was wrong, even though he knew something was.

Then again, he never asked her about it, either. The hell was he supposed to say?

Tommy pressed his lips into her hair and stared at the city beyond the water. He knew that if he told her she didn't have to go, her reaction would be less than pleasant. She'd already taken the time off work, and she'd push to know why he would suggest something like that. He wanted her to tell him about her life when she was ready to. She'd pressured him into sharing some of the darkest parts of him, but it had been her job to draw that out of him. He'd waited patiently for the right time to learn about where she'd come from, and he was pretty sure that time had come.

Ada stirred against him, fingers gripping at his forearms. She stretched and tilted her head back to look up at him, and he lifted a hand to stroke the hair away from her forehead. "Let's get married right after Sparta," she said softly.

He snorted lightly, wrapping his arm around her front again. "That enough time?"

"Plenty. Let's just go to the courthouse. Invite Brendan and Tess as witnesses. Paddy, if he's in good health. No need for a big, fancy ceremony. A reception's just an excuse for presents. We'll make up for the grandeur during the honeymoon."

He gave another snort, then sniffed, rubbing his cheek against the top of her head as she shifted in his arms. "You decide where you wanted to go, yet?"

"Everywhere," she said, and he smiled.

"Okay."

It was a moment before she spoke again. "We could fly Pilar and the kids in, if you wanted. I don't know if-"

"Yeah, that sounds awesome," he said lightly. "I think she'd really like that. I'd like that." He stopped, thinking of his best friend's wife, and their two beautiful children. Pilar struggled everyday to stay afloat in that dump in El Paso. It'd been so long since he'd seen her. Since he'd seen the kids. He missed them. "I'm gonna win her that money."

"I know you are, baby."

She didn't doubt him. She wasn't scared for him. She didn't ever try to stop him from doing what he needed to do, and that kind of affirmation of his worth made his heart hurt. He pulled her in closer and kissed the side of her head. He was going to do something special for her tomorrow. He didn't know what yet, but he'd do something to make her forget that they were in Seattle for two days.

"You still have to wear a tux," she said. "On your wedding day and on your funeral – that's when you said you'd wear one, and I'm holding you to that."

He grimaced. "Only if you wear a dress."

"Don't you worry about me. I'm getting married – you think I'd allow myself to look like I just rolled out of bed?"

"You think I would?"

"I think you would if you could."

"Bummer I'm not still in the Corp – I bet you would've liked the Dress Blues."

"Your file came with pictures when I was treating you. I liked them very much."

He wasn't expecting her to say something like that, and leaned forward to catch her eye. "Oh yeah? What'd you like about them?"

"The badges," she said, her eyes drifting over his face as she looked up at him. A smile stretched her lips. "And the hat."

"Actually they call it a 'barracks cover.'"

"Is there a special name for the badges as well?"

"Uhh…" he looked towards the river as he thought about it, and she followed his gaze. "Not really. Insignia, I guess. I didn't get a lot of them. I didn't rank too high."

"You had rows of ribbons and badges over your chest, and rank had nothing to do with those. You were a good soldier, Tommy."

He winced as his heart dropped and a heaviness came over him. He was no soldier. A soldier didn't leave his unit in pieces in the middle of the desert when the coward in him chose to bail. There was no excuse for that, and he'd live with it for the rest of his life. A soldier doesn't say 'fuck this shit', and decide that he no longer wants any part of the fight. A soldier accepts that life happens, that death happens, and he proceeds with the mission. Manny was a soldier. The best kind of soldier there was. But not him. He was a deserter.

"I know what you're thinking about Tommy," Ada said quietly. She sat up, untangled herself from his arms and turned to face him. "But you're alive because you're supposed to be, and the decisions you've made have brought you here. To where we are right now. And I hope you don't feel regret about that."

Tommy didn't know what to say. He didn't have to try to convince her that he was happy to be sharing a life with her. She wasn't looking for that. She was looking for acceptance. His acceptance of something that had been entirely out of his hands. Nothing he or any of his men could have done would've prevented it from happening. He knew that. He _knew _that. An act of God, some people called it. He called it negligence. Americans killing Americans. They were never ready for that war. They didn't know what they were doing there. They just knew they had to fight, and kill, and live to see another day. There was something inherently wrong about that. How could he just accept that the men he fought alongside in this foreign wasteland were the men that killed his brothers? How could he accept that U.S. soldiers confused other U.S. soldiers for insurgents? Couldn't they see the flags? The Humvees? An entire platoon of eager young marines waving to their brothers in the sky? There wasn't ever accepting that kind of reckless abandon. The damage was done.

"How did your brother die?" He regretted the words a little as soon as they came out of his mouth, because she looked at him right then in a way he was sure he'd never seen before. He didn't take the words back though, just like she didn't apologize for calling him a good soldier. It was dark, but he saw the flash in her eyes, the confusion in the unexpected question. He hadn't tried prying into her past since the beginning of their relationship. You'd think he'd slapped her as she began to draw back a little. And the way her eyebrows creased as she attempted to analyze his current state of emotion and assess what may have triggered the question told him that she still wasn't all that willing to talk about it. He wouldn't let her turn this around on him again, though. He waited for her to say something.

"Cancer," she said, and he tried not to wince again. Cancer was awful. Cancer was hell. He'd seen firsthand what that disease could do to someone you loved, and he already hated the fact that Ada had to live through that as well.

"How old was he?"

She shifted, but kept her eyes on him, unwavering. "Tommy, why are you asking me this?"

"Because I want to know," he said, feeling like his mouth was guiding his brain. "You're my fiancée. I want to know where you come from."

"Fair enough, but where is _this _coming from? You haven't asked me about my family in a long time."

"I figured you'd tell me on your own time, but you didn't. And I'm not fuckin' stupid, Ada. I know Seattle's been bothering the hell out of you." She withdrew a little further, and that was his fault. He didn't mean to sound so snappy, but it just came out like that.

"I'm fine, Tommy." She did her best to sound sincere, and she did a hell of a job. Even smiled and laughed a little. But he called bullshit. "Going home has just had me anxious, is all."

It was like she'd completely forgotten everything about him. Like she didn't know he knew anything about loss. Like she had no idea he knew what it felt like to have the world as he knew it end. To leave everything he knew behind and start again somewhere fresh. And what returning to the place he had left behind could do to a man like him. To anyone, really. Like she didn't know that he immediately recognized that look in her eye. She'd came to Pittsburgh because she was leaving something behind. He wanted to know what it was, and he wanted to know why.

"Where are your parents, Ada?"

She hesitated, her gaze shifting to the side. "I hope you understand that I don't talk about them for a reason."

"Yeah, and I want to know why," he said. His brow raised and his eyes unfocused as he searched for the right words. "I have a right to know the person I'm marrying."

"My parents have _nothing _to do with who I am," she spat, jerking her head back towards him. "If you don't understand and accept that right now, then I won't tell you a goddamn thing."

"Hey, hey," he soothed, reaching for her. He didn't mean to make her angry. She jerked her hand from his grasp initially, but after a moment's thought slid her fingers back over his palm. "This won't change nothing. I just want to know."

"That's asking a lot," she said with a small laugh, as she reiterated something he often told her when she treated him. She shifted a little closer to him, and crossed her legs as she took both of his hands. He brought her hands up, brushing his lips over her knuckles as he waited for her to speak. "Uhm…" was how she began.

Micah DuPrae was fifteen when he was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. And it was almost funny to them, because of how ordinary his condition was. Of course he'd develop leukemia. Of course it would be the most common type of cancer found in kids his age, and of course he'd be of the rough forty percent that couldn't fight it like others could. Ada was just beginning the second year of her residency when they started his treatment. Micah liked having his sister close, especially as his condition worsened. When he was at the hospital for days at a time, so was she. They'd roll in an open bed, and she'd sleep in between shifts right beside him. She'd check up on him whenever she had the chance, and when there was an emergency, she was always the first to know.

Micah had an indestructible spirit, but his body had always been feeble. The kid never had a chance, but Tommy admired the fact that by the sound of it, he never let that get to him. He was good to his sister. Kept her smiling and laughing, and believing in miracles even when they both knew that there wasn't going to be one in the stars for him. He stopped fighting after three years and took his last breath in the early hours of a Tuesday morning. Ada had gone home that evening, and woke to receive the call that he'd passed at 2:37 a.m.

Jacques and Kathryn DuPrae were people who did bad things with the best of intentions. They made sure their children were taken care of, but they did it in a way that made Micah and Ada resent them. Ada communicated with them sparsely after she left home for college. She wanted nothing to do with the things they were involved in and she feared being connected to them. She only returned to Seattle to complete her residency because she wanted to keep Micah on the right path in his most vital years of development.

Jacques was a hard-hearted and overbearing man who hustled and intimidated his way into a comfortable living. Kathryn was a delicate, gullible, and dependent woman, and she was his partner through and through. Organized crime was small-scale and petty in the northwest, but they made it work for what it was worth while they could.

Turns out that wasn't long. "My parents paid for the crimes they committed," Ada said. "I stuck around long enough to sign their estate over to the bank, and then I left. I'd applied for openings all around the country after Micah died. The first response came from Pittsburgh, so that's how I ended up here."

She didn't specify what happened to her parents. She never would. And Tommy didn't mind that too much. She found a way to put it behind her and he didn't want to disrupt that peace. He could make guesses about her parents' fate. The outcomes were limited. The acquisition of her parents' assets could have meant life in prison. It could've meant death. They were one in the same as far as Ada was concerned. She spoke of them as if she'd signed them off a long time ago.

"When people asked what they did for a living, I'd say they were small business owners. Which was true in a sense, I guess. My mother had a used books store up in University District. You see it all the time in the movies. But it isn't anything like the movies. And the strangest thing is that it's everywhere – all around us. We don't even know it. We sit down at a restaurant. We walk down a street, and we just have no idea that they're there. People like my parents are everywhere. Hustling – crime in general. It's such an easy business to get sucked right into."

Tommy found himself unable to formulate any kind of response, and they sat in silence for a long while. He didn't want her to go to Seattle with him. He didn't want her to relive any of the shit she'd worked so hard to put behind her, to experience unnecessary pain just to watch him fight for a few minutes. He was beginning to see that the world seemed to fuck everyone, one way or another. Didn't matter how ordinary someone seemed. Even someone as stable, as successful, and as beautiful as Ada had her own demons to live with. Everyone had a past. Everyone had shit that haunted them; shit they wanted to forget.

It really all came down to whether or not you let all that shit define you. He did. Ada didn't. Her brother didn't. He didn't know how in the hell they'd been able to do that. Wasn't everyday your parents were criminals, but she made it sound like it was, and she wasn't impressed. Maybe that apathy came with treating people who were fucked in the head day after day, seeing and hearing shit that would make most people squirm. He didn't know.

What he did know is that the both of them had had enough excitement to last them two lifetimes. He was done with it. He wanted a boring life. He wanted to go to work, come home, cook dinner with his wife, wrestle with his kids until bedtime, and then fall asleep every night to the eleven o'clock news. When people he hadn't seen in awhile asked him how he's been, he wanted to say, "the same." He wanted to argue with Ada over the cost of renovations to the house they planned to live and die in. He suddenly wanted that dog she'd been whining about since the beginning of the year.

Fuck, he loved her.

"It's freezing," she said suddenly, breaking the silence, her voice light like she'd only just noticed the temperature.

"Let's buy a house," he said.

Her eyebrows knitted together in a momentary confusion, and then she smiled. "Let's get married first," she said through a small laugh.

"Right."

She sighed, and reached up to comb her fingers through his hair. "You need another haircut," she said, trailing her fingertips down until she cupped his cheek. "When we get to Seattle, I want to show you my favorite part of the city. Conveniently, it's right outside the Key Arena."

"Space Needle?" he asked, and she grimaced.

"I hate the Space Needle. No, it's far better. So beautiful. You'll see."

He strained his memory to recall the structures around the Arena. That whole area was a cluster of outstanding hot spots, if he remembered correctly. "Is it that fountain thing?"

"Jesus, how do you know about that?"

He laughed at her blatant surprise towards his lucky guess. "Lived forty minutes away for three years, babe. Wasn't shit to do in Tacoma. I did my fair share of exploring."

"Hmm." Ada glared in thought as she unfolded her legs and pushed to a standing position. He followed her lead. It was time to go home. "Did you ever venture into the Underground City?"

"What?"

"There's a city underneath Seattle. Didn't you know?"

"The fuck?"

She laughed and turned to grab his hand. "Tours are daily. We'll go tomorrow night. We have to go at night. It's haunted, you know."

Tommy groaned as they strolled through the grass to the parking lot. But inside, he was all for it. Anything she wanted to do, they'd do it. Anything to keep her distracted, and happy during their trip. But as she looked up at him with a playful smile and brightness in her eyes, something told him that she'd be all right. They both would.

* * *

_I'm probably going to reread this later and hate it, but I just had to get it out there. So don't be too hard on me! You guys have been amazing and so wonderfully supportive of this story. I can't thank you enough, and can't wait to see what you have to say about this one! Thank you, thank you for reading :)_


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